


Poptart Flavors

by AppleBlossoms



Category: The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: ((just confused little gays)), Awkward Conversations, Awkward First Times, Awkward Kissing, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Social Anxiety, churchtarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-01 22:26:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 29,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10931271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppleBlossoms/pseuds/AppleBlossoms
Summary: “L-look, I don’t normally talk to people, but this environment that I’m in is something I don’t...prefer... But it’s good to know you’re not intoxicated unlike some...others...but it’s c-comforting, really.” Elder Poptarts smiles at him.“Why—well, um, same for y-you... I’m s-sorry, uhm, I’m good—not good with talk—conversing.” James stutters out.“I see...” Poptarts breathes in, “Well, let’s restart.”“I’m Elder Poptarts, nice to meet you.” Elder Poptarts says, offering a hand out for a handshake.“Elder Church.” He replies, accepting the handshake.0o0Basically the story of how Elder Poptarts and Elder Church hooked up in Uganda.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note for y'all, the whole fanfiction is in Elder Church's (or James') point of view. This will be mainly ChurchTarts and how they were able to get together in Uganda. McPriceley if you squint (not really).
> 
> Just wanted to do these because ChurchTarts is an underrated ship. (I hope this inspires people to write some ChurchTarts because the fandom needs more.)
> 
> Hope you enjoy this fic that took the both of us about two months to make!

James Church wasn’t so surprised once Elder McKinley and Elder Price came out to all the elders in the middle of lunch time. James admits himself: he had seen their relationship develop into something deeper than a normal friendship. Once they admitted it, it felt like a big relief for the elders. No one was mad, just very proud of the two. 

That night there was a sudden celebration. Apparently, Elder Cunningham planned a party but kept it secret from James. Well—maybe James just wasn't a good listener, for it seems his mission companion, Elder Davis was informed of such, also Elder Neeley, and maybe Elder Zelder...yes—it was just him being the dense guy he is.

The surprise of the party though, was the presence of alcohol. James doesn't know how Elder Cunningham was able to smuggle alcohol in the mission hut, or even buy it. (They lacked in funds after leaving the Church, James assumed he got it from Nabulungi). The whole night long, James was stuck being anti-social with his brothers in the mission hut. All of them were drinking their asses off for all James knew.

James wasn’t much of a social man himself; he admits that he probably lost his sense of socializing seeing the many times he's failed keeping up a conversation. He hadn’t talked to any other Elder too much; he doesn't know what this certain Elder was like, or how this certain Elder acts, he doesn’t even know some of their names from time to time. 

The failed socializing was probably caused by traumatizing events in the past, something James doesn’t dare to touch. He doesn’t even talk in school or his family, so he never learned how to converse well. 

So how well does he do in this party?

Not so good.

He was staring of the distance while sitting on the couch. Stuck in between Elder Cunningham having a chugging contest against Elder Davis, and Elder Price and Elder McKinley furiously making out on the couch just beside him. The only thing he has in his hand was an empty glass—he drank all of his water up. He was just staring at the glass in his hands then to the chaos that was happening around him, waiting for the others to finish up the party and announce that the party’s over.

James looks up from his glass from time to time to avoid boring himself out. The immense amount of glass staring he did in half an hour was probably something he was good at, but please, he cannot profit from such a ‘talent’. He looks around, trying to pry away from the intense couch rocking, and the alcohol being splashed around by immature elders. Was there any elder like him, too awkward to even try something new?

Probably not. He watches Elder Cunningham spilling half a bottle of alcohol on the ground from drinking too much than he can drink, Elder Zelder and Elder Neeley too influenced by alcohol that they passed out in the middle of the living room area, Elder Davis was dancing to made-up music in his mind on the countertop, Elder Schrader and Elder Michaels playing with whipped cream on the walls, and the Elder Price and Elder McKinley making out shirtless on the same couch he was in.

That’s odd, all the Elders he counted felt incomplete. Was he missing one?

Of course he did, he just realized it once he saw the seemingly out–of–placed–blond in front of him. James himself knows who Elder Thomas or Elder Poptarts is, but they never talked before—no: that’s an understatement. James hasn’t talked to anyone but Elder Davis. He stares, he stares back.

He stares.

He stares.

And stares.

“Are you drunk?” James hears Elder Poptarts speak, his hand putting away the Frosted Blueberry Poptart he was eating. “You keep staring.” He adds, and bites his prepared poptart.

James freezes for a second: Oh no, he thinks, socializing. Was it really social anxiety washing over him? He was about 20-years-old and he’s very anti-social. He can’t even try speaking on the phone without squealing for his mother’s help but he doesn’t have his mother, doesn’t bother having a father, Elder Davis is unavailable, so it’s just him...and Elder Poptarts.

He shudders.

“—hey, you alright? You don’t seem intoxicated by those...” Elder Poptarts pauses to gesture to the abundant piles of alcohol in the kitchen “...things.” he finishes, his mouth pouting. James shakes his head, pouting as well as his gaze averts to the piles of the (yet) unused alcohol, and the piles of empty bottles. It’s surprising how such a disgusting liquid can be so addictive. James had tried alcohol, but it led to some... awkward situations—he promised not to drink again.

He earns a sigh of relief from Elder Poptarts and cocked an eyebrow at him. Why in the world was he—out of all the elders here—talking to him? “I thought I was the only one, thank the Lord.” He leans back on the couch relaxing his back. “Why don’t you drink some alcohol, though? ‘Thought you might be as rowdy as Elder Davis or Elder Zelder.” He bites his poptart again, speaking with food in his mouth. “Surprising.”

There seemed to be an awkward silence between them as they both stared at each other.

“L-look,” Elder Poptarts stuttered, a small quiver in his voice. James was really surprised by the man, how does one have such a small voice at twenty years of age? Well—another thing is that his voice had a bit of hesitance in it; perhaps, he has social anxiety like James. If he did, he was handling it better. “I don’t normally talk to people, but this environment that I’m in is something I don’t...prefer...” He pauses to look at the shirtless Mormons making out beside James. “But it’s good to know you’re not intoxicated unlike some...others...but it’s c-comforting, really.” He offers a small smile as he bites on his poptart.

“Why—well, um, same for y-you.” James tries offering a smile, but he swore he might be offering a mischievous-looking smirk instead. He leans back instead, biting his lip to stop it from shaking. He can’t believe he spoke, what a great leap of faith! “I’m s-sorry, uhm, I’m good—not good with talk—conversing.” He stuttered out. Gosh—he looked like an idiot, didn't he? His immense amount of stuttering is disappointing. Come on, James, man up!

“I see...” Elder Poptarts pouts, looking away then looking back. Gosh, he was doing something wrong. “Well, let’s restart.” He breathes in, bringing out one of the most adorable smiles James had seen in his life. Elder Poptarts brings out a hand in front of James, basically offering a handshake.

“I’m Elder Poptarts, nice to meet you.” Elder Poptarts says, and James mentally smacks himself: don’t screw this up. The amount of handshakes he turns into weird hand dances was a lot, uncountable even. He brings out his hand as well, breathing in deeply. He shakes it, and silently thanks Jesus that he didn’t sneeze or accidentally high five the hand. 

“Elder Church.” He replies without stuttering. Pride swelled within him for he uttered the sentence without embarrassing himself.

They begin to talk a while later after the rather self-conscious introductions, exchanging bits and pieces of their interests and hobbies. 

James learned that Elder Poptarts was still devout to their God, that at first his parents never really allowed their only child left to partake into the missions as it was a huge risk in his life. Through Elder Poptarts' constant pestering—and as he also as he'd like to believe: his constant prayers—he was allowed by both his parents, yet his parents of course, still possessed that fear. Elder Poptarts states that he is quite sure that they are in great anxiety right now, after all—news breaks out fast, and whatever they might have done here in Uganda has been spreading like wildfire. 

James can't help but notice a few little things about Elder Poptarts. One is that he loves using his hands in talking—gestures. James reminds him of those Italians in cooking shows or whatsoever. It's funny really, but everyone has their own quirk. James is sure that he himself must be doing something that seems peculiar to Elder Poptarts. 

Another is that despite Elder Poptarts' awkward first impression, he does have the ability to carry a conversation, unlike James—all he does is stay silent. That's what he's good at. Elder Poptarts possesses a great deal of charisma, and every time he smiles, or laughs, it's comforting given the current situation he is in. 

"Hey, uh— Elder, why do you like poptarts so–" 

"HOLYSMOKESIT'SJOSEPHANDJOSEPHSMITH!" A brassy voice resounds from the floor. James pans his view down to see a very flushed Elder Cunningham grappling his shoe—he's drunk too much, James can tell by the prominent slur in their Prophet's voice and his failure to keep his eyelids open. In the politest way he can muster, James attempts to rid of Elder Cunningham's grip at his shoe, but to no avail, James was given the final resort to take off his shoe and walk with his other foot clothed in merely a white cotton sock. 

The clock read 1:00. Elder Cunningham passed out, so did Elder Davis, and Elder Schrader, and Michaels, and Elder McKinley with Elder Price, and almost everyone was. The whole mission hut looks like what would be an aftermath of a failed revolution, the hut was a mess. Chairs and tables are flipped over, whipped cream smothered in the floors and walls, wine mixing with it, shirts and ties left crumpled on the ground...so much for "In Vino Veritas". 

James stands up. Being the Good Samaritan he is, he's accepted the obligation to take everyone back into their rooms. With the exception of Elder Price and Elder McKinley, though—they're most likely sleep together in the couch. He takes Elder Cunningham by his armpits, struggling at his weight, James walks a little bit further and a cold, sticky liquid hits his shoeless sock-bound foot. He's stepped on wine-mixed melted whipped cream, ugh—now he has to worry about stains too. 

James eyes Elder Poptarts a look of apology; Elder Poptarts beams another bright smile.

"It's my way of expressing things!"

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

"But really, you guys! I saw Joseph the Father of Jesus and Joseph Smith! They were both wearing missionary uniforms!" Elder Cunningham walks towards the round dining table. "I'm quite sure it's them who carried us back into the room! Except for the other two..." Elder Cunningham seemed to beckon on Elders Price and McKinley, and as a response, both of them flush nearly at the same time. 

James was left to sit down on his seat; he had a hand clasped to his mouth as he tried to stifle his laughter. He knew who those two Joseph's were; the fact that Elder Cunningham was clueless made it harder to stifle his laugh.

"What are you hiding from me, Church?" A palm grips on James' shoulder. Ah, Elder Davis—James glances above to check on his mission companion's face—and recalls what he has been doing the previous night—dancing on the tabletops.

"N-nothing, Elder. Nothing." James replies, still attempting to hide his chuckles. Elder Davis gives him a questioning look, "Heh, suit yourself. The Lord knows what you've been doing." his groggy voice warns. So do you, Elder—James wanted to reply back, but let the notion die in his throat. 

Elder Davis groans, sitting down on his seat. The same was for the rest, either a grunt, an unbalanced walk headed towards the table, or both. 

Well, this is what alcohol did to its first-timers. 

Soon, Elder Poptarts clutches his box of poptarts—it read: Chocolate Chipped Cookie Dough. He vacates the usual seat he is in—beside his mission companion, Elder McKinley. For a while, Elder Poptarts gazes at James' line of sight—James was able to notice Elder Poptarts' eyes: they're blue, a brilliant shade of blue. Elder Poptarts smiles sheepishly, before turning to Elder McKinley—tapping his shoulder to excuse him from his chatter with Elder Price.

Elder Poptarts was conversing the matter with Elder McKinley in a rather hushed tone—Elder McKinley's responses were the only thing James can hear from across the table. Out of the blue, Elder McKinley gasps. "Really Elder? You're giving us your box of poptarts?" Elder Poptarts nods in response, handing over the box to his companion. 

James is surprised himself. Elder Poptarts usually kept his poptarts to himself alone, now that he is allowing everyone to have some of it...is something uncanny. Well, not that he thinks of Elder Poptarts as greedy—it's just...this occurrence was such a rarity.

A whole chorus of gratitude fills the past-awkward disposition, currently; almost the whole table has been feasting on the pastry. James did not think it was necessary to indulge in the poptart—the others can have it. After-all, this will help them in their hang-over somehow, right? Maybe that was Elder Poptarts' reason for lending his beloved poptarts—to help them in their respective hangovers. The ability to walk to the table is a miracle, as James would like to beli—

"I'll go head back to our room," Elder Davis cuts James' train of thoughts. "I don't feel my best today."

An eerie silence was left on the table as Elder Davis nauseously wobbled back to his and James’ room. James might think he got a terrible hangover or maybe he wanted to sleep more. Elder Davis did sound very groggy a while ago, probably had snot stuck in his nose. He did look weary as well, his eyes slowly closing and snapping back open to stay awake. James couldn’t help but worry; this was his mission companion they were talking about!

Many of the Elders had shrugged it off as a hangover worse than everyone else had, but with the anxiety brewing within James, he still felt a very bad concern for his mission companion. Out of all the Elders, Elder Davis has been the most supportive of him and maybe the only one who actually isn’t awkward when it comes to conversing with James. James felt his tummy grumble from hunger, but at the moment, breakfast didn’t really matter.

“Pardon,” he spoke, standing up and excusing himself from the group. He rather stayed with one person than a group of people anyway. Many Elders simply ignored him, just staring at him for a mere second then go back to conversing with whoever they were talking with. Ignoring the grumbling worsening, he walked to his room which was the closest room to the living room area and kitchen, fortunately.

He knocked on the door and opening it slightly before coming in. He peeped through, seeing Elder Davis remove his tie before getting into his bed, “May I come in?” asks James, offering an awkward smile, again, thinking a devious grin would come out instead. Elder Davis nods, giving a small but comforting smile as he sat on his bed. James enters quietly, a pout on his face. “Are you okay?” he cocks an eyebrow as Elder Davis sniffs, then shakes his head.

“I got a fever on my first hangover, funny,” he replies, chuckling. James really noticed how his voice seemed groggier than a while ago. James assumed his throat might be sore as well. “What’re you doing here, anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be eating breakfast?” asks Elder Davis but all James did was shrug and sit next to Elder Davis.

“You’re sick, you think I can leave you like this?” surprise to James, he is very comfortable if he talks with Elder Davis. His mission companion always had his way to comfort James and James definitely enjoyed it, delighted, even. He really disliked his social anxiety, so he commended Elder Davis for helping him out in a way. Elder Davis smiles as he lays down, still looking at James.

“Thanks pal, but breakfast is the most important meal of the day, you shouldn’t ignore that.” Elder Davis replies, but James shakes his head, refusing such a request. He didn’t want to waste his opportunity to give back everything good Elder Davis gave him. Helping out those in need is better than eating breakfast. It’s more satisfying.

“Nah, I’m really okay. Do you want breakfast, though? I’ll bring some if I have to.” Replies James, and there’s some silence for a few seconds. Elder Davis was probably thinking of the decision, judging by how he looks at the ceiling and pouts for a few seconds as well. He bit his lip then replied back, “I’d love some breakfast, but not too much..” he replies, laying back even more on his bed, resting his eyes.

“Okay, sure…” James stares at the resting Elder Davis who was massaging his temples. He stood up a bit awkwardly, hoping that Elder Davis was still awake, even if he looked like he was about to fall limp any moment. James still decides to prepare him breakfast, and maybe he can catch a small meal for himself too. Elder Davis needed it more, though, with him being all feverish and sick.

He was about to exit, but once he heard a small knock on the door, he paused, walking backwards a bit. Elder Davis sat up, curious to see who was knocking as well.

“Hello, Elder Davis, Elder Church?” James recognized that small and cute voice, it was Elder Poptarts. This was true because he peeped in and his identity was fully recognizable now. “I—uh, wanted to d-drop by.” James was glad that he also kind of had some social anxiety just like James, it made him feel less alone. 

“Uh, sure, what’s wrong, Elder?” asked Elder Church, rubbing his eyes groggily as it reddened. Elder Poptarts kicked the door lightly for it to open, presenting a tray of breakfast. James and Elder Davis looked surprised for a moment as Elder Poptarts walk in with an awkward smile. On the tray was a plate of Orange-Flavored Poptarts, obvious by the color orange decorated around it and its smell. Along with the poptarts was a glass of water next to some medicine for fevers. Elder Poptarts placed the tray of breakfast on the bedside table Elder Davis and James owned.

“I don’t usually do this, but seeing what you did last night made me pity you just a bit.” James noticed Elder Poptarts couldn’t help but giggle a very contagious giggle. Why contagious?, you might ask. It’s because James was laughing now, a very great refreshment here early in the morning. Elder Davis pouts but grunts, crossing his arms though sick.

“What did I do last night? Elder Church wouldn’t tell me.” Elder Davis states, giving a joking glare at Elder Church. Though, his question just made Elder Poptarts laugh even more. Elder Davis flushed embarrassingly, but disappointedly looks away. Elder Poptarts eventually stops laughing, just simply saying, “Youdancedonthecountertopslastnight.” And chuckled. Elder Davis’ eyes widened, his flush reddening. 

For James, he could just watch them converse, not wanting to insert himself in it. “What did you prepare?” asked Elder Davis, changing the topic nonchalantly as he averts his gaze to the prepared breakfast made by Elder Poptarts. “Orange Poptarts, water, and medicine, basically. Eat up.” He replies, and some events from last night occurred in James’ head, making him feel a bit uncomfortable.

Last night, he had asked Elder Poptarts why he loved poptarts so much, and his simple reply was that he ate it because it expressed himself. But James reflects: why would one express one’s self with a simple piece of food? It seemed like a joke, but the way Elder Poptarts said it wasn’t in a joking manner, it was somewhat serious, also the truth. James still doesn’t know what it might mean fully, but maybe it’s about him showing his emotions? I mean, what else could it be if he opens different boxes everyday just to express a certain feeling?

Maybe, he thought. Maybe it was. Last night, he ate a Blueberry Poptart while looking uncomfortable. A while ago, he gave a box of Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Poptarts to others, probably feeling generous. Now, he’s giving something not Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough flavored, but Orange flavored, something completely opposite. It really confuses James to the maximum, but maybe it was good? It made him feel curious, something he didn’t dare feeling before.

His curiosity growing, he asked the same question he asked Elder Poptarts last night, “Why do you like poptarts so much?” he speaks, abruptly cutting off Elder Davis and Elder Poptarts’ small conversation. Elder Davis looked at him, confused, but Elder Poptarts looked calm, even a smile present on his face. 

“Like I said, it’s how I express myself, Elder Church.” Elder Poptarts looks on the floor, looking like he regrets something, something bittersweet. “Well, anyway, I should be going. Thanks for your company.” Elder Poptarts stands and smiles at them sweetly, waving a little farewell as well before exiting the room and shutting the door. 

Well, James thought he screwed up.

“Well, I’ll just eat, you can maybe just… rest?” Elder Davis brought the tray on his lap as he took a bit on his poptart, complementing its taste. James nods as he sat on his bed, hugging his pillow. There was something Elder Poptarts experienced before that created his love for poptarts, James knew it. He didn’t know why he was so interested and intrigued by a man he barely knew, but that should be a good thing, right? He completely seemed like he had forgotten his anxiety, right? So that’s good, he guessed. 

His curiosity grew and grew inside him, probably killing him inside, that’s probably why he wanted to solve the mystery, the mystery of Elder Poptarts and his love for poptarts. Like he said earlier, maybe that’s how he expressed his feelings? If it was, maybe he should do something about it…

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Later that night, the only motivation he needed to really do something is when Elder Poptarts gave Elder Davis Cinnamon Roll Poptarts as a sign of appreciation from accepting his poptart earlier this morning. It kept him hyped and intrigued for doing something and it fed his curiosity which was already growing bigger and bigger.

So tonight, this was the plan: Firstly, he will bring out a notepad and pen he brought from America and use it later tonight. At midnight, he will sneak in the kitchen and count and write down all the poptart flavors they owned. The following days he will “observe” Elder Poptarts and write down the mood of Elder Poptarts once he eats a certain kind of poptart. If he finishes the list, he just gains… the feeling of success, maybe a new friend? He didn’t know. All he knew is that this will cure the curiosity filling within.

James was currently on his bed, waiting for the digital clock on his bedside table to beep to remind him that it was twelve midnight. At the moment, he was groggily doodling on the notepad he was supposed to use for the listing. He had plenty of pages anyway, it didn’t matter. He was doodling things from Elder Davis dancing on the countertops to Elder Price and Elder McKinley fluff. He knew how to draw, really, he just kept this secret from others (only Elder Davis knew, he watched him draw on the airplane to Uganda).

Then, the clock beeped, signaling him that it was midnight. Before he left the room, he watched Elder Davis for a few moments, hoping he is sleeping soundly. He didn’t want anyone to find out he was sneaking out, it will end up to awkward conversations, much to James’ dislike. What would they think if they found out he was secretly solving bits and pieces of Elder Poptarts’ liking for poptarts? He would probably earn looks of question and confusion.

He stood from his bed, leaving the room silently. He really hoped no other Elder heard the squeak the door made or his footsteps echoing in the hallways or the deep breathing James had because of the hot air in Uganda or anything. Since his room was the closest to the living room area or kitchen, he was fortunate to arrive there quickly. He turned on the lights, which blinked a bit because of how it was overused. He placed his notepad and pen on the table and then approached the cabinet of poptarts.

And once he opened it, it looked like a Poptart Heaven.

The cabinet was filled to the brim with poptarts, looking like it was an endless stash of boxes. James stopped to wonder how much luggage Elder Poptarts had to bring to just bring his favorite foods to Uganda, or maybe he wondered about where he finds the plentiful amounts of flavors of poptarts here in Uganda and how he was able to pay it. Did he buy these in the black market?, James thought. 

James snapped his trail of thoughts, he had work to do. So, he grabbed his notepad and pen and started listing which poptart flavors he saw. The flavors ranged a lot: from Apples, he had Oranges, Cookies and Cream, and the like. The cap of his pen in his mouth, he continued listing from top to bottom, moving some boxes to see the flavors in the back of the boxes.

At the end of his listing, his notepad page was filled. He covered his pen with the cap and sighed in relief as he reread the flavors he wrote. He might misspell some words like “pumpkin” and “blueberry”, but other than that the list was perfect. All he had to do was to observe Elder Poptarts the next few days and fill up the list with more information. He listed some, though, like for blueberries, he guessed it was awkwardness or loneliness, for oranges, it was for sicknesses, then for chocolate chip cookie dough, he guessed it was friendship because this was the only poptart flavor that didn’t seem to matter to him too much that he can share it with others.

He rested on the chair for a moment, flexing his fingers and hands. They were a bit sore because of the box moving and writing at the same time. They cracked, giving a wave of relief to James. He rested his eyes for a moment as well, staying up late wasn’t much of his thing so maybe he can catch some z’s for a few seconds…

“Elder Church?” A voice calls out from the other side. James sat up straight, his hand gripping the pen firmly. Thank God it was just Elder Davis, wrapped around a blanket while looking at Elder Church weirdly. “What’re you doing up?” asks Elder Davis as he cocks an eyebrow at the open poptart cabinet and notepad and pen James had. “Are you rummaging through the poptarts cabinet? Elder Poptarts won’t be happy to know that…” Elder Davis pouts as he moves his body to go back to his room.

“Just hungry,” James lies, his hand playing with the pen, twirling it in his fingers. Elder Davis shrugs as he returns back to their room, giving a wave of relief to James. James sighs, his grip on the pen becoming loose. Thank God he was able to lie, well, make things up. Lying sounds too sinful. He averts his attention back to the poptarts, licking his lips at the thought of eating one—no! James focuses back at thinking how his plan will come out, thinking, and thinking, and thinking…

James stops his thinking to return back in his room, hoping that his plan will play out just as he planned.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

James stares at the former water-filled glass cup that his hand cradled; he's downed it in a single gulp. It was only reasonable for him to drink more and more the passing minutes, the sun of Uganda was punishing—a single task would result in sweat forming in one's forehead, a sudden flash of exhaustion, or the lack of will to do the task instructed to them—they tried to avoid this at all costs. The Mission Training Center had long ingrained to their once ambitious minds that sloth was a sin, and a point towards hell. 

Not that anyone cared about the Mission Training Center now. It was all ditched—like most of their past identities. 

Aquamarine walls, pictures of Jesus plastered everywhere and anywhere in the premises of the Mission Hut. The kitchen that James is currently in failed to avoid this suite. It appeared rather boring, just these plain walls—just as plain as all the other Elders were before—and it is simply outdated. All the missionaries here are brimming with their own colors and uniqueness, and James has the desire to incorporate this in each wall. He closes his eyes at the thought, letting out a small smile. It would be fantastic—he keeps all these ideas to himself though. The thought of everyone seeing and even the mere thought of asking the District Leader frightened him. 

There's a fast tempo of footsteps approaching (meaning James would be noticed for whatever oddness he exhibits any time sooner), but James remains to close his eyes for a while, indifferent for what happens next. He envisions how things would be—he'd paint images of each of the Elder's favorite things: Musicals to embody Elder McKinley's no-longer closeted thespian-ness (and James's closeted one), a myriad of poptarts for the eponymous Elder Poptarts, Star Wars: courtesy of Elder Cunningham.

The footsteps were approaching to a crescendo, then it abruptly stops. 

James opens his eyes to reveal a lanky, blond man: lo-and-behold, Elder Poptarts. Elder Poptarts had a pink tint colored in both of his cheeks, both of his arms dangling at either of his side, his hands are fisted. 

Oh no.

James feels the coil in his stomach tighten, he wanted to hurl, or bury himself alive. God save him. 

Was it because of him that Elder Poptarts was in a state of uncomfort? James dodges that precise question his mind repeatedly gives him, he believes that he's flushed because he's been running, right? Right. 

Research states that four seconds is enough to project uneasiness. It has been more than four seconds since they have been like this—staring at each other.

James brings his left hand up in a fisted position and coughs in order to halt the impending silence. "I'm sorry," James then brings that hand down, opens it up and wipes it on his slacks. "I'm sorry for that." 

Elder Poptarts says nothing, instead he nods his head in haste and approaches the shelf were most of his poptarts are kept. Elder Poptarts was too short; therefore, he needed the aid of a stool to finish the certain task. 

James watches Elder Poptarts in such inexplicable celerity. He approached the stool in a rather leaping manner, which caused the stool to tip towards the back. Luckily, James was able to catch him by his waist, and brought him right up. 

"T-thank you." Elder Poptarts voice was still laced with fright—it was the first thing that he was able to say after all that's happened—Elder Poptarts cracks a grin, it was hesitant the first time though, but once he smiled in full, James noticed the atmosphere to be slightly brighter. 

Oh, how James wanted to say something. He wanted to talk to Elder Poptarts, know what his interests (other than poptarts) are, he wanted to be able to be his friend—but he restraints himself for a bit, still figuring the proper time to speak, the proper thing to say, and how to avoid messing up in a conversation he was more than willing to partake. 

James notices the box of poptarts that the blond clutched around his lithe hands—it was Raspberry-flavored. James mentally jots the flavor down in his mind—he dares not to forget on solving the mystery of Elder Poptarts and his poptarts. Should he ask? Is “why are you eating that poptart?" too rude? Would he ans—

"Elder Church," James snaps from his reverie after hearing Elder Poptarts calling for him. "Uh, uhm—I'd like to—uh, ask for advice." Elder Poptarts attempted to open the box with his fumbling fingers as he stepped down from the stool. His gaze was fixed on James though—he must've mastered the skills of opening the box and the likes. 

"Uh, sure." James raises his hands up as a gesture for Elder Poptarts to continue, he is unsure what to do with his hands. Should he put it down? Yeah—he places it down to his lap midway, then shifts to holding them behind his back. 

"Well..." Elder Poptarts begins. "My mission companion is with Elder Price doing schmaltz and all, and you're here! I've been wanting to talk to you, and now I am." His sight averts upward, as if thanking God. "It's great! uh, i-it's great, really.” Elder Poptarts offers a whimsical smile "But I have quite the problem here...well, I've done something...wrong." 

"Hm?" James hums in a form of a question. "What is it?" 

"I was entrusted by Elder Cunningham to hold his Star Wars CD's. Those CD's were from the very first episode and the next." the blond's tempo in speaking was accelerating by every word he said. "Well, I said: 'Sure!' and held it, it was simple! Just hold it, not drop it, take care of it! What's so hard about that, right?" Elder Poptarts glances at James for a bit of an assurance. "But silly ol' me—heh, I dropped it! All the CD's came falling out of their cases, and one got a scratch!" James places one of his hands under his chin, mouthing a silent "oh", and nodding. 

"He was frustrated, he told me about how these were rare to find back in the States, and I said sorry repeatedly, but it seems that it won't fix anything! I'm also frustrated with myself, why do I have to be so clumsy? Everything would be easier if I wasn't!" Elder Poptarts was sputtering and James could no longer understand his soliloquy. 

"So...you're...uh, guilty?" 

Another silence filled the air, neither of them wanted to spare a glance at each other. 

"Well...if you put it that way Elder, yes. Yes—uh, I am...guilty." Elder Poptarts little-blond head bows down in acceptance. Huh—James recalls the other times the presence of Poptarts were acknowledged...or just there. An idea flashed in his brain...but he can't quite put his finger in it. He'll let the vision clear itself in his mind. 

"Elder uh—" It couldn't be possible that he tells Elder Poptarts to just straight up tell him that he's sorry—that's a frightening idea (to James at least.) "maybe you can tell him you're sorry?" Wow, so much for frightening idea—his mouth betrays him.

Elder Poptarts' eyes widen. "M-m-me?" James is sure he's screwed up. "I-I can't do that Elder! The prophet? Talk to the prophet for personal matters? I-I can't, I don't—" Definitely. Great job James Church, his conscience chimes in. Now do something!

"O-oh, Elder. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." James stood in two worlds—peace and the chaos his made. He was out of place, both of his hands were raised up in a notion to either comfort Elder Poptarts or spare himself. "U-uh, maybe...ask your mission companion to... give him a poptart?" James asks. "I mean, Elder McKinley has relations with Elder Cunningham—well, he has relations with every Elder so—"

Elder Poptarts looks at James as if he's found the answers to life. "E-elder, that's genius!" He grins a bright smile, he went over to stand on the stool again, opening a box of Chocolate Chip flavored poptarts, he gets a packet—and returns the other boxes back to the shelf. James jots that down once again—he feels selfish for doing this—for trying to know more of the unsuspecting man...but his curiosity engulfs it afterwards. 

"Thank you." Elder Poptarts strides closer. James looks downward to see Elder Poptarts giving his hand a friendly squeeze. James quirks up a small smile, before squeezing Elder Poptarts hand back—Elder Poptarts glances at James in a mix of awe and admiration. James failed to notice this, however. 

Elder Poptarts heads towards the room's exit—waving a goodbye. 

James feels the weight of Elder Poptarts' small hand on his.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The situation's this: nothing peculiar has happened, nothing mind-boggling, nothing of great importance. If it was possible to call something normal (especially in Kitguli), James would have to admit that this day was the most normal everything could get. 

James reaches the doorknob and wipes the beads of sweat forming just above his brow. Thank the Lord, he has reached the shade—the shade that towered just above the door. He takes both of his shoes off, holding it by the tongue, and enters their humble abode. It smelled of normality: the musk of soil and a hearty amount of detergent (as per Neeley's constant yell of "I told you not to use your shoes inside!", not even their district leader: Elder McKinley has been spared from it. Now everyone places their shoes in a rack Neeley requested for all of them to make.) 

James reaches the couch, landing with a muffled thump; he sighs, placing both of his arms at the top. There wasn't any great pressure on all of them in proselytizing, no quotas to meet, no Mission Leader observation to withhold, what's important is that they were able to spread the context of the Book of Arnold—and that's what proselytizing is about, right? It's not supposed to matter how much people you have gotten in the faith: that's God's duty, James believes that the duty of missionaries is to share it, but certainly not to impose a faith and shove it down their throats. If you'd let him use the analogy "Hitler had billions, Jesus had twelve", that's what he means. 

But screaming a feminine high-pitched shriek wasn't exactly a normal thing that could occur in the mission hut. Because one: James was pretty sure only the elders existed in this village, he certainly does not remember sisters being sent here, and two: he's so sure that none of them can even shriek that high! Their puberty stages were most likely to come to an end...voice doesn't develop at nineteen...or twenty... 

A series of dry laughs and snickers followed. So much for a normal day.

"Do you think the water would actually turn hot?" James can't help but eavesdrop the wheezy voice that he identifies as Schrader's. If it was Schrader, certainly it was—

"It was fun while it lasted." comes the flat voice of Zelder. Of course! It was certainly two of the most jocular missionaries in the hut. What else did he expect? It must be that MTC myth. 

But who shrieked? Or...was their conversation laced with malice? Did they bring anyone else aside from any of the Elders in the hut? Or was it either the two of them who shrieked? What could they be doing that would make anyone shriek that high? 

Were they actually...no, no! No! Zelder has to be the straightest person in the mission. He always talks about the girl he's left back at the States...but then if it's not them, or anyone else—

"ELDER CHURCH!" While James was off scampering with his own personal supply of questions, Elder Poptarts nears him and grips his arm, shaking him as Elder Poptarts addresses him. James flinches as he feels something cold against his skin.

"O-OH MY LORD, ALLELUIA, JESUS IS ALIVE!" James freezes, the tip of James' ears turn into a visible red. 

Elder Poptarts seems to be oblivious to the fact that the whole plane of his chest was exposed, and the only clothing he had with him was a towel wrapped around his waist. James' alert of modesty and morality rang all-out, the first thing his brain tells him to do is shut-down. 

"...Elder?" James pinches the bridge of his nose, talking in deep breaths. He glances over the blond in front of him. His hair's been dulled into a darker gold, and he smells of the shampoo everyone else in the hut uses....Wait, why is he even noticing this?

James takes Elder Poptarts' hand with the plan of leading him to the room Elder Poptarts owns. Once they were by its door, James turns the knob, and shoves Elder Poptarts' back. All Elder Poptarts could do was utter a small noise of confusion.

James closes the door rather hard...he did not mean to sound angry, but really—you can't just go around with your chest exposed!

"CHANGE INTO YOUR CLOTHES FIRST!" 

Minutes afterwards, the door opens to reveal Elder Poptarts clad in the standard missionary uniform. It appears that the blond was struggling with his tie. 

"Uh..." He bows his head down to check the mess he's made. "I—uhm, may you help me?" 

James nods his head before taking a stride forward fix the knot Poptarts made. "You see, it's always Elder McKinley who'd help me fix my tie—since he's not here, I've been...constantly butchering the art of tie-ery." Elder Poptarts gives a small smile. James finds himself releasing a small laugh. 

"Thank you, again." Elder Poptarts says in a hushed tone. Elder Poptarts returns back to his room, and goes back outside with a poptart that appeared to be of Chocolate Fudge flavor.

"Just...where exactly do you keep your poptarts, Elder?" James can't help but ask. So the poptarts he counted in the shelves was not everything? Good gracious. 

"Everywhere." The eponymous poptart Elder replies.

"HOLY CHRIST!" A quivering voice echoes and turns into a crescendo. It was accompanied with heavy footsteps, and vocal-chord ripping groan. James moves a step backward, distancing himself from Elder Poptarts. He stiffens as the corner of his eyes meet a piercing set of hazel.

"Since when..." Neeley trails off, bowing down to the ground, he points to the almost invisible trail of water pooling over by the door of Elder Poptarts' room. "WAS THE MISSION HUT A WATER PARK!" He moves his head up sharply, Elder Neeley's face did not betray him. Neeley's eyebrows were knitted together, his mouth quirk downwards. He looked like a bull triggered by a red flag that's bestowed upon him. 

James bows his head down, and Elder Poptarts seemed to follow suit as well. James dares to get a glimpse of Elder Neeley once again, and he was certainly trying to swallow in his tears. Everyone knew about Neeley's strive for symmetry and cleanliness. In the end however, the whole mission hut was filled with boys in the fringes of their puberty, and most are starting their becoming of an adult—it was inevitable to keep the whole hut pure and pristine, much to Neeley's dismay.

"Sorry, Elder." Elder Poptarts manages to choke out. "I'll take responsibility for this, I'll—"

"Clean the bathroom for a week?" 

"I—"

"Yes, clean the bathroom for a week. Thank you Lord." Neeley runs towards the other end of the house and returns with various cleaning materials in a basket, "Here! Bleach is your friend, also the plunger. Take care of Bob, uh—here's the brush. Don't rinse immediately! Make sure the floors shine and you can see yourself! Have fun!" Neeley places it to the ground and skips off like he's frolicking in a field of flowers. 

The remaining two are left to stand in an unsettling silence. They stare at each other for quite a while, until Elder Poptarts speaks up. "I'll...go?" The blond quirks up a small smile before leaving.

"Wait." James tugs at the blond's thin wrist. James lets go after Elder Poptarts' gaze of surprise appeared. "I'll...help you out." 

"But Elder Church, you've helped too—"

"No, it's okay. I'll help. You know how tedious Elder Neeley's assigned work." James mumbles the rest of his words, Poptarts' simply nods, and utters a small thank you once again. James finds himself to land his hand over the smaller blond, and the surface of his hair is damp under his palm, and it feels rather smooth. 

They proceeded to the toilet and started their duty, and the first few minutes were rather unsettling for James—he was too cautious on what to start with or when, that he hardly ever realized that the clock ticked the whole roundabout, and he was still stuck in a position he doesn't know when he'll ever get out. 

James looks behind him to see Elder Poptarts and his bangs plastered on his forehead, Poptarts had a persistent look on his face. James resumes his work, before a feigned cough pauses him.

And another feigned cough. 

And another. 

"You know what Elder," Elder Poptarts finally speaks up. "I'm tired of us being all awkward, we're friends, aren't we?" This bold statement surprised James so much, and it was true, it was draining to think of the right thing to say, the right thing to move, the right time to speak. 

James sucks in a breath. "Of course we are." 

"Good, now what do friends do?" Poptarts brings his hand under his chin. "Oh! We shake our hands." Poptarts extends his hand forward. James does so as well, and they shake hands firmly. 

"Now that that's done—" The blond was cut off by James. James earned the courage to initiate something; he felt rather proud about himself.

"How's your day?" 

Now Elder Poptarts spiels about the happening in the bathroom in what has actually hours ago. James listens to him as Poptarts explains in full detail, his hands creating multiple gestures, his face mirroring the expressions. James had to say, Elder Poptarts was a great story-teller if his awkwardness did not catch along with him, he can describe the mood in a flowery yet simple way, if it was possible. 

"So Schrader walked in on you naked?" James asks himself.

"Well, if you don't consider the frosted glass, well sort of..."

James tries to suppress a laugh, but he lets it out anyway. He had to admit, that joke still got him somehow. Poptarts pouts. "Hey! It was really embarrassing! Quit it!" 

"Fine, fine!" James wipes the lone tear that formed along the brim of his eyes, 

They grow aware of the accomplishments they've made, look around the toilet to see it spick and span, hopefully it was in Neeley-standard. 

"Thanks for helping me...again." Elder Poptarts smiles.

"Is 'thank you' your favorite statement?" James teases as he places all the cleaning materials in the basket. "You're welcome."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

James wondered if spider catching could be a potential sport in the Olympics. If it were, he could team up with the rest of the District Nine elders, and maybe some Ugandans, and get the gold medal for spider catching. Just saying, James and the rest of the District Nine look like the Ghostbusters, but with brooms, and they hunt for spiders instead. He also thinks they can have a potential job in National Geographic or The Discovery Channel, possibly.

The spider catching thing is great for all the elders, all of them facing their fears and eventually looking like they can tolerate any animal… well, that’s a lie. The elders can tolerate any bug, not every animal, because if a lion were to come in their hut, they’d probably panic and have a heart attack. For bugs, it really depends. If they can kill the bug, or maybe a scorpion, or maybe a snake, it was a big relief, but if the bug or small animal lands on their body, it’s a big game over for the elder.

For now, the elders were very wary at the moment. About five spiders, all big ones, had entered the mission hut in the middle of the day. Probably some Ugandan had set them loose in their hut, or maybe they were just attracted to whatever they had in their kitchen. But still, they had some spiders invading their mission hut and all the elders have for self-defense is just a broom and their feet.

This wasn’t really much of a bad experience for the elders. James admits there have been worse scenarios: like when fifteen poisonous scorpions invaded Elder Zelder’s room for some reason, some toxic frogs jumped in in the middle of dinner which kind of looked like the second plague of God to the Egyptians, and maybe the worst is when a goat hoard invaded their mission hut and messed everything up.

So, everything was under control. James had his broom firmly in his hand, and he was being accompanied by Elder Davis and surprisingly Elder Poptarts. Elder Poptarts claims that Elder Price and Elder McKinley were basically inseparable, like their shoulders were glued in some way. James allowed him to tag along anyway; poor Poptarts always left alone because his mission companion looked like he forgot his mission companion was actually Poptarts. Well, he didn’t really complain too much, it was nice to have another friend who he can talk to confidently.

For now, they were snooping around the mission hut like Mission Impossible spies, or maybe like they’re finding robbers in a mansion and they were cops. The problem is, they were terrified. Why? They were hunting for tarantulas which had entered the mission hut unexpectedly. They were wary, eyeing each room and corner of the mission hut. Sometimes, they’d bump into some elders who had caught some already.

For James, however, he hasn’t caught any, nor did Elder Poptarts and Elder Davis. They were like the failed trio. Elder Cunningham had caught one with Nabulungi, Elder McKinley caught one with Elder Price, Elder Michaels magically caught one with Elder Zelder, and Elder Schrader and Elder Neeley caught one as well. But there one more left in the mission hut, probably very good at hiding. It has been half an hour and they haven’t said anything, just eyeing everything.

Eventually, they stopped trying. They have passed each room a billion times and the tarantula was nowhere to be seen. As they had walked out, they had bumped into Elder Price and Elder McKinley, both looking very tired and worn out.

“Any luck?” asks Elder Davis, but all the two could do was shake their heads no. James groaned inwardly, he didn’t want to show much of his thoughts on front of Elder Price and Elder McKinley, of course. If it were only Elder Davis and Elder Poptarts, it would be okay, but anyone else would be a big no no to James. 

“I think it might’ve left the hut.” Elder Price states, leaning against the walls, still holding the broom. “We’ve checked each room, there was completely nothing. Even the other elders gave up, including Naba.” Elder Price adds. James did agree on this, he bet the tarantula already had escaped as it saw what had happened to its relatives. But, even if it did escape, James didn’t fully feel relieved. He bet it was still here... somewhere…

Then James looks at the ceiling as he thinks about that, and there it is, the last tarantula. James squirmed and shrieked, eventually leading those who were with him to look up as well. They all squirmed as well, trying to think of a way to bring the spider down calmly. Remove calm, they were panicked. Elder Poptarts looked like he was going to scream any moment.

Then the tarantula fell on Elder McKinley’s face.

More ruckuses ensued once it landed, Elder McKinley furiously shaking his head as he tried throwing the tarantula. James wanted to scream, but he just covered his mouth with one hand as the other prepared to hit the tarantula once it reaches for the floor… but it doesn’t. The flying tarantula had landed on Elder Poptarts’ arm, slowly crawling up to his neck. Poptarts screams eerily as he shakes his arm, using the broom to shove the tarantula on the floor. As it lands, James smashed it with the end of his broom, all its insides spilling out.

It was disgusting.

The five took a minute to compose themselves. They all looked squirmish and panicky, some elders even rushed to the scene thinking one of them was bitten (which fortunately did not happen). They all just stared at the dead tarantula, Elder McKinley and Poptarts both terrified and traumatized by the crawling tarantula. James was terrified too, but if that tarantula crawled on his back or anything, he probably would have panic attacks every time he sees a bug.

“Pardon,” Elder Poptarts was the first among the ten elders (eleven if you include Nabulungi) to exit the scene, definitely heading to the kitchen. James didn’t know what he should do for a moment: would he exit and go after Poptarts or would he stick with Elder Davis? Screw it, he thinks, quietly exiting the scene to go after the blond.

Poptarts was definitely going to prepare a poptart, James could feel it. He was terrified, of course, a tarantula crawled on his arm! James knew that whatever poptart he gets, it will represent fear, or being traumatized, or anything like that. He finds Elder Poptarts preparing the Poptart wide-eyed, still looking very terrified.

“You okay the, bud?” asks James, Elder Poptarts averting his attention to James. James waves a short hello before sitting beside the terrified blond. “Well, he’s dead now, no need to fret.” James tells him, Elder Poptarts nodding hesitantly as he nibbles on the Blueberry Muffin Poptart he prepared ever so quickly. 

“But it crawled. On my arm.” He spoke in a squeaky voice. James really adored his adorableness, his high pitch voice was something he praised. It was one of the most fascinating things about Elder Poptarts. “I cannot not remember it.” He adds, shaking as goosebumps appear visibly on his skin.

Elder Poptarts then does something James thought was a bit weird. He stopped munching on his poptart for a moment and averted his attention to James’ face. His eyes definitely were looking at him directly, Poptarts biting his lip. “Can you, uh, perhaps, s-smile for me?” he brings up an awkward smile, his face definitely looking a bit red from embarrassment. James thought it might be because of the tarantula scenario too.

“Uh, sure, but you need to tell me a joke first.” James raises an eyebrow at him as Elder Poptarts pouts, looking up to the ceiling, probably thinking of a joke. He raises one finger up as he thought of one.

“What do you call a group of unorganized cats?” asked Elder Poptarts, smiling a bit.

“What?” 

“A cat-astrophe.” He snorts, and James admits, it was a pretty good joke. His lips definitely formed a smile, probably from how corny and funny the joke was. They stare at each other for a moment, then burst out to complete laughter. This was something different. Never ever did James ever laugh so hard before at a bad joke. Well, this was a big relief on James and Elder Poptarts’ parts, especially on the tarantula issue.

And this is probably when James realized he didn’t just adore Elder Poptarts’ voice, but he loved his very cute and contagious giggles.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

There was something that really sparked between James and Elder Poptarts in the week they got to know each other. James doesn't usually socialize with the elders well, but for Elder Poptarts, he was the second elder who really let him feel confident. Not spitting out a stutter or messing a sentence filled him with pride; it's like he was a step away from anxiety! Though, it's still there creeping at his back, Elder Poptarts really was a great friend and always pulled him through in these situations.

This is probably why he stuck with Elder Poptarts this afternoon instead of proselytizing with the rest of the elders. He was on the couch in the living room area on front of their low tech television. On the other couch was Elder Poptarts, silently staring at the black screen of the television. With the amounts on conversations they had this week, he really thought he can handle maybe starting a conversation with Poptarts or hoping Poptarts would start one...

But it was dead silent.

The room was only filled with sounds from the outside—shouting children, farm animals, singing villagers, and the like. He really thought the silence was something great to him before; he never really like to engage to conversations. But with Poptarts, it seems unnatural for them to be silent, maybe a bit tad awkward. 

Something was definitely bothering Elder Poptarts judging by how uneasy his face looked. He was biting his bottom lip as his fingers were tapping the couch in a rhythm. Really, what bad thing could've happened to him that made him so quiet? James stared at him for a few moments, hoping he can snap him out of his thoughts or maybe grab his attention.

Another disturbing thing was the fact he had no poptart in hand; it was like seeing something foreign. He looked queasy and the fact he had no poptart was weird. For the past week, James was observing what poptart expressed which emotion. He was able to finish almost half of the list, something that made him feel a bit successful. Nut now, he had no poptart for whatever emotion he felt. Maybe he was too tired to prepare a poptart or maybe no poptart could express what he felt...

Maybe he should talk to him...

...yea, he will.

"Elder?" He spoke, grabbing Elder Poptarts' attention, thankfully. At least he was attentive enough to hear what James was saying instead of let his mind wander off so he wouldn't even see the real world anymore. "You're not eating a poptart, do you feel okay?" He asks, and Elder Poptarts just stares. It was a weird stare, something that gave James a bit of nervousness.

"I'm quite alright, elder." He replies, eventually straightening his back. His back cracks then he proceeds to fall back on the couch. "Just deep in thought about something." He still wasn't looking happy at all, something James feels a bit sour about. 

"But," he pauses, letting some tension fill in the room, "Tomorrow, Elder Church, I will act a bit... Salty... And mad..." He says awkwardly, James cocking an eyebrow at the blond man, not understanding some parts of his sentence. "It's a thing that happens once a year and I just don't want any of you to get hurt... So please, leave me alone tomorrow? Just tomorrow, I promise, then we're done." Elder Poptarts finally meets eye contact.

Nervously, James nodded slowly. Elder Poptarts releases a sigh of relief, closing his eyes and massaging his temples. What on earth would happen tomorrow that would make him a bit... Salty? 

Oh, of course, the sister situation.

"I understand." He just replies in such a quiet tone, it sounds barely audible. 

It was silent for the next hours. This thing didn't usually happen to James before... It's like a friendship that reached its peak and now had a rock that blocked its path for a day. It felt quite disappointing for James, maybe a bit sad for him... Probably because he never did well in a friendship before and now a road block ensues. 

He really hoped it would only happen for one day. James really didn't think he can handle hard talks with Elder Poptarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a hint, this is about Chris' sister. Hope you enjoyed this, new chapter in every two days.
> 
> Follow us on Tumblr! :  
> @appleflavoredkitkats and @littledaisyfloret


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we go with Chapter 2! I hoped you people enjoy Chap. 1... Thanks for the Kudoses, we really appreciate it!
> 
> But here's the second chapter, filled with more fluff.

Despite James’ efforts to try and cheer up the small blond the whole day, Elder Poptarts still remained silent in the end. It really wasn’t a normal sight for James that the usual happy-go-lucky, poptart-eating elder looked so dull and down. The sister situation really dragged his self-confidence, James thought, probably why he had anxiety at the end. James could understand the blond, though. The emotional pain James’ father left him really pulled him down to the realm of anxiety, distress, pessimism, whatever bad thing there is.

So, James let it pass. On the actual day of the sister situation, he didn’t mind Elder Poptarts one single bit. It actually was an easy task seeing how he actually did not join the rest of the elders to eat breakfast. Even with the worry and concern really grew in him, he didn’t dare do anything. He really did not want to mess things up, plus, judging by the distressed face Elder McKinley gave everyone this morning, he did not want to talk to him one bit.

The whole morning was Elder Poptarts-free for James. Though it made him feel uneasy, he knew this was temporary. Just let time pass by and he’s done, he thinks as he sketches. At the moment, James was seated on the couch, holding a large sketchpad he bought from the market and a pencil. After the whole Arnoldism incident, he was free to do what he desired, meaning, he can draw.

James was really fond of art, heck, his life depended on it because he basically did not have a social life. Whenever his parents and siblings would have a harsh and intense argument, or when in school when he ate his lunch alone, he would just be by himself and let himself draw whatever he pleased. It was a peaceful, really, the world disappears and your mind is just focused on creativity and art ideas. He loved doodling body shapes and anatomies, he loved experimenting with shading and lineart, he just loved art.

“Hey, there’s a gap there.” Elder Davis was beside him, pointing out the mistakes of James’ drawing all fine and well after his fever disappeared. It was nice for his mission companion to just sit beside him and watch him draw, it was really comforting that someone cared about his talents. James connects the lines to remove the gaps, “Any more gaps you see?” asks James as he observed his drawing with Elder Davis.

“Nope, keep going.” Elder Davis insists, passing him some colored pencils James brought to Uganda. James silently thanks him, starting to color whatever he was drawing. He had a brilliant idea of turning the country of Uganda into a person. The outcome was beautiful, the lady he drew looking so pleasing to the eye. He started coloring the skin as Elder Davis still watched in awe.

“What’re you going to name her?” asks Elder Davis, and to be honest, James had no idea. He shrugged, stopping his shading to think of a good name. “What do you think?” he turns to Elder Davis, but he shrugged as well, both hoping they can think of a brilliant name they can suggest for the girl James drew.

It seems like a lightbulb flashed on top of Elder Davis’ head, “Once, I talked with Nabulungi and she talked about her mother.” He stated, trying to recall something, “And she stated her mother’s name is Kamali. Is that good enough?” suggests Elder Davis and James just nods, writing the name ‘Kamali’ in the corner of the page.

Then, he continues shading, experimenting different kind of coloring styles. In the background, he knew the rest of the elders were messing around in the kitchen (except Poptarts), laughing and joking around. James assumed they were doing some board game or Truth or Dare, something James and Elder Davis did not want to get themselves involved. Last time they played a game with Elder Price Elder Price had actually broken the Snakes and Ladders game in half with one grip. And that was terrifying.

Then, after half an hour of shading and Elder Davis professionally criticizing, he smelled something familiar. It was a scent he usually sensed when he passed by Elder Poptarts everyday: poptarts, obviously. He stops shading to look at the kitchen—

He freezes. There was a handmade s’more poptart cake prepared by the seven elders in the kitchen. The elders seemed proud, but with the poptart cake they prepared, James doesn’t think Elder Poptarts might actually enjoy it. For the past week, he listed down each poptart and what emotion it represented for Elder Poptarts and he knew s’more poptarts was a big no-no for Elder Poptarts in this situation. The last time an elder tried offering the wrong poptart, Elder Poptarts looked like he was going to malfunction any moment.

He gulped nervously as he stood up and placed his sketchbook and coloring materials down. Elder Davis follows his move, both of them staring at the proud-looking elders in the kitchen. “Ooh, they made a poptart cake, pretty.” Elder Davis comments, averting his gaze to James. He definitely cocked an eyebrow at James. “You okay?” Elder Davis asks, looking quite perplexed at James’ face expression.

They were going to serve s’more poptarts when Elder Poptarts feels guilty about something. And judging how Elder Poptarts was trying to hold in his malfunctioning when he was offered the wrong poptart, James thinks he can just get mad at this moment. He knew Poptarts was showing his emotions behind the mask now so he can unleash his anger whenever he wants today.

What was he going to say to the seven elders to convince them to stop, though? James was a social mess, unable to talk confidently to anyone except Elder Poptarts and Elder Davis. He bites his lip, forgetting Elder Davis asked a question. He immediately tries to casually reply, “Yes, I’m fine.” He says, but his eyes couldn’t stop staring at the cake. He definitely does not want Elder Poptarts to snap at any of them today. No drama, he begged.

Here goes nothing.

“I don’t think you should give Elder Poptarts that.” James states, surprised that he didn’t stutter one bit. The seven elders look at him, confused, but weren’t really convinced.

“But Poptarts would love this! S’more poptarts cake, it’s perfect!” Elder McKinley replies, his eyebrows cocking at the man. What was he going to say to that? He gulps, the lump in his throat disappearing.

“Well, I think Elder Poptarts can handle his problem on his own—“his sentence was cut by a disappointed-looking district leader.

McKinley gave a little tsk, “No buts Elder Church, I’m sure he’d love it.” James definitely felt the anxiety crawl up his spine like it was a monster about to consume his brain. James just watches the seven elders happily carry the cake and walk towards Poptarts’ room, Elder Davis and he slowly following behind them to see the outcome of the cake.

McKinley knocks on the door, a smile placed on his face. It took a solid twenty seconds before Poptarts came to open the door. Even behind the crowd, James was tall, so he peeped at how the blond looked in this day. He looked sleep deprived, his bright blue eyes looking murky and dull. He definitely did not look like the normal him, especially when James can notice the dried up tear tracks. That mood is not for a s’more poptart, only extreme happiness can achieve that poptart.

“Hello Elder Poptarts! We decided that since you feel really down today, we made you a s’more poptart cake!” Elder McKinley held up the made cake, proudly presenting it to Poptarts, “Since you know, you love’em so much!” he gives a bright grin at Elder Poptarts.

But he wasn’t laughing or smiling at the elders. He frowned grumpily.

“Wrong poptart.” He muttered, his usual adorable, squeaky voice turning quite harsh. “I told you, Elder McKinley, I don’t want any of you to do something for me. This cake looks disgusting.” He sneers, looking quite tempted to slam the door. James winces as he watches the redhead look quite offended.

“Make sure you choose the correct poptarts next time because this—“ inevitably, Elder Poptarts leans in to grab the plate of the cake and rudely drop it. “won’t do.” He scowls as he turns away and slams the door angrily. James winces a bit more as the elders stood there in complete silence before helping the district leader clean up the wasted cake they made.

“See, I told you.” James spoke quietly, feeling a little bit of pity at the elders who put hard work in that cake. James wanted to help them, but he thinks that seven elders were enough for the job of cleaning a cake. Some elders were murmuring about how guilty they felt and how they feel a bit of offense after Poptarts’ moves.

James didn’t know what to do. Maybe he can help Poptarts, maybe he can just have a small and deep talk with him. Maybe he can offer a different poptart, something that will help him cope with this. He ignores Elder Davis’ statements and the elders’ effort to clean up the mess and enter his shared room with Elder Davis.

He opens the drawer beside his cabinet, digging in to find his notepad. He was able to find his yellow notepad with the list of poptarts and emotions on it, trying to find the poptart for guilt.

He was able to find the guilt poptart, the Raspberry Poptarts. He remembers him eating this poptart when he scratched one of Elder Cunningham’s Star Wars CDs. A lightbulb appears on top of his head as he hid his notepad and heads for the kitchen.

By this time, some of the elders were sulking in the living room area and kitchen. They definitely looked bummed by Poptarts’ reaction to the cake. He passed by Elder Davis scanning his sketchbook and adoring the drawings he made. Elder Davis looks up and smiles slightly, then turns into a pout, “What’re you going to do about him?” his eyes avert to the hallway to Poptarts’ and McKinley’s room.

“I’ll… find something I can do.” He then watches Davis nod before scanning James’ sketchbook again. James approaches the kitchen, immediately opening the poptart cabinet. The district leader looks at him, perplexed, “That’s not going to work, elder.” He states, sighing sadly afterwards.

“Trust me, I know Elder Poptarts a little bit more than you.” He gives a confident smile at McKinley, thanking Heavenly Father that his anxiety disappeared temporarily for the moment. The district leader just shrugged simply, not looking so confident at James, “Suit yourself.” He simply says as he just continues his conversation with Elder Price.

He found the stash of Raspberry Poptarts, immediately toasting two poptarts for Elder Poptarts. He definitely did see the looks of doubt from other elders, but he simply ignored such. He places the poptarts on the plate and left it to cool before heading for Poptarts’ room across the hall.

He arrives there quickly, the place still smelling like s’mores because of the fallen cake a while ago. He knocks, hoping the blond would answer. “Elder Poptarts, it’s just me, Elder Church.” He speaks softly, hoping Poptarts would come to open the door. He heard some shuffling of footsteps until it was heard near the door. Poptarts was definitely there.

“What do you want?” asks Poptarts, voice a bit muffled because of the blocking door. “I want to be alone, I warned you that, Elder Church.” He adds, opening the door to come face to face with him.

Elder Church breathes in deeply before walking in the room. Poptarts looks at him weirdly, but James sits on Elder Poptarts’ bed and settled the plate on the bedside table. “I brought the correct poptarts.” He stared at the Raspberry Poptarts, and Poptarts honestly looked impressed. His harsh expression turned lighter as he shut the door.

“You knew?” asks Elder Poptarts, and James nods and shrugs. James pats the empty spot beside James, beckoning Elder Poptarts to sit beside him. He complies, sitting next to him uncomfortably. There was a few seconds of silence before James started to have the small talk.

“When I was young, I had already quite bad family issues. My dad managed his anger badly, always taking his anger and just abuses my mom. I always had nothing to do but watch guiltily along with my siblings. It really hurt when I just watched and watched and watched, like this was a show and I was meant to watch it every night. It still hurts to think about it,” James starts, and he definitely grabbed Poptarts’ attention, seeing his expression soften a ton. For James, he felt a sting in his chest as he spoke.

“I had no friends in school, my best friend was my pencil and sketchbook, but like anybody cared about my gifts and talents. After sometime, I developed social anxiety, well, anxiety in general. What was dad going to do tonight? Will I get involved this time? What will happen to mom or my siblings? It drove me insane, the anxiety always creeping up my spine when a bad thought came in my head.

“But now I’m here in Kitguli, living a happy life with Elder Davis, you, and the other missionaries and villagers. I’m learning more, my art is appreciated more, my life just turned good… until my mother died. It was like game over for me. But still, here I am living my life with the best of people.” He finishes his small speech, hoping he can deliver his point out well.

“So?” Elder Poptarts asks in a softer and concerned tone, looking quite sad as well.

“I don’t want to dwell on your sister’s death too much. If you stick to something you regret, you might risk doing something wrong to yourself and others. We’re here for you, you know that…” he pauses as he stares at the prepared poptarts, “I don’t want you to end up having anxiety like me, alright? You’re such a precious person who shouldn’t act and think like this.” He stands up, facing Elder Poptarts.

“We care for you. Your sister’s death isn’t the end of you. I believe that your sister really cares about you too, and I don’t think she wants you to grieve like this. Like what Prophet Cunningham says, man up and continue going with your life.” He smiles, patting the blond’s head.

James heads over to the door, his hand already reaching for the door knob before Poptarts speaks, “Wait, before you go,” he stops James as James turns to face Poptarts’ blue eyes, “Thank you very much.” He brightly smiles like normal, and James smiles back and nods.

He exits the room and took a deep breath. That was probably the toughest thing he had done, but he was definitely proud of it. He walks to the living room area and sits beside Elder Davis, still scanning through the sketchbook. He buries his hands on his face, sighing in both relief and worry.

“How’d it go?” asks Davis, looking at James.

“Well, very well.” He replies back, still covering his face.

“Thought so, I heard some parts of it.” He pauses, James looks at him with a bit of shock, “I’m really proud of you, y’know that. Thanks for helping him.” Davis finishes, then turns back to flipping the pages of the sketchbook.

James nods, and replayed the small talk in his mind. He didn’t know why, but he felt a hint of pride after all of this.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

After some time after the Elder Poptarts incident with both James and the elders, the elders finally had the motivation to prepare lunch—by elders, he meant Elder Neeley banning Elder McKinley from the kitchen for burning food and Elder Price and Elder Schrader preparing the foods by themselves. It was great they were able to cope the rejection of Elder Poptarts well because if not they probably wouldn’t even have lunch. And now, they had late one o’clock lunch with amazing and spectacular-looking food on the table.

Each Elder trickles in the scenery, each sitting, creating their own individual noise as an acknowledgement of their presence. Each talk to the ones beside them, or in front of them. James simply sits down on the chair and lays his hand on the faux-wood table, not omitting any sound. The person usually beside him, Elder Poptarts was not present. James understands. Everyone needs a breather, it's just that the breather may not result as anything serene it could be in utmost discord.

Davis was at James left, but he was happily chattering to Schrader about animals, everyone was chattering, and James eavesdrops. Most of their conversations consist of worry for Elder Poptarts. James doesn't know if he should be worried himself, but Elder Poptarts had aforementioned this occurrence, he trusts Elder Poptarts.

"Would anyone want to say graces?" McKinley asks. Each Elder looks beside each other, or others would nudge whoever is next to them. "Anyone?"

"I would." Neeley raises his hand. Everyone stares at him in shock. "What, it's been long."

Each one of them clasps their hands together and close their eyes shut. "Heavenly Father," Neeley starts. "We thank you for the food we have today, we thank you for our brothers who help us here..." Other Elders nod at this. "Bless for us these graces, and I certainly do hope my brothers would help me clean the dishes. Amen." A strong amen resounded from the group. It was laced with laughter due to Neeley's last statement. "No, seriously." Neeley reaffirms, and everyone follows suit.

The group starts to dine, talk about half of their day with smiles. James stares down at his food, and takes the time to appreciate how good the food actually tasted, despite it having such limited ingredients. Speeches grow louder and louder with each passing minute.

Elder Poptarts had appeared, as he approaches his seat, his face nonchalant, but it had a gist of remorse. James does not know if this was a sign of respect or ignorance, but each Elder seems to either bow their heads down or whisper.

"Uhm..." Elder Poptarts begins. His fidgeted with his hands in an immensely fast pace. "About...hours ago..." The blond swallows deeply.

"I know that it was really rude of me to be snobbish to all of you, for something personal...that I should've known how to manage alone. I'm not a child anymore, but my actions were...juvenile." Elder Poptarts explains. "But, I'm sorry. I really am. The more I shouldn't treat my brothers..." He halts for a while, trying to regain breath. "like that. I'm sorry, once again, it's okay if you can't forgive me that fast—it's hard to forgive people or, forgive yourself..."

"Elder," The leader takes charge. "We understand that you have emotional hand-carry with you...it was our fault that we refused to take your warning. For that, we're sorry too. For being nosy."

"But we were just really concerned, elder." Schrader took the courage to speak up. Others nod their head, Cunningham recites a brassy "Yes!", and Price says a calculating "True..."

James smiles at this. It was certainly his first time to witness Elder Poptarts interact with everyone else in the mission hut—he feels happy for him, that he gets to talk without haste or a jumble. Unless of course, Poptarts had interacted with an older set of Elders. James had come later than Poptarts and his companion, he would never know.

Michaels yells a "We'll pray for you, Elder!" And cheers of agreement resound. Poptarts mutters a small 'thank you' repeatedly, and all seems well.

Lunch has ended, and everyone gives thanks for the food. James was not under the dishwashing duty today, so he stays by the chair for a while. Elder Poptarts taps him by the shoulder, and James turns towards the little blond— he mouths a vague "Hold up.", leaving the dining area and coming back with a single packet. "This is a cinnamon-roll flavored poptart." he remarks. "I hope you like it!"

James feels immensely honored. He was...given a poptart! But..."Why, but...I'm not sick or anything, Elder. Why are you giving me one of your prized possessions for no reason?"

"I just wanted to say thank you." Poptarts smiles to himself. "For a while ago. Thank you."

 

The blond strides closer to him and wraps his lanky arms around James waits. James looks down, Poptarts could barely reach his face—but James hugs him back, feeling rather giddy, he doesn't know, it just happens, and relishes the pressing weight against his. Elder Poptarts looks up at him and sheepishly smiles before running away, the last thing James could see was the back of his head and his reddening ear.

James had to admit, that was a pretty nice hug. But in the log of his quest of searching what this poptart addiction was about, James confirms to himself that even if he is able to solve the mystery, he will never understand the complexity of Elder Poptarts himself.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

James was stuck in thought as he stares at the blank page on his sketchbook, his hand just simply gripping the mechanical pencil. Currently, he was suffering a major art block—he had no idea what to draw. He groans inwardly as his hand kept stroking weird lines, followed by him erasing those lines, then the process repeats. Art blocks felt like a curse to him; he’d simply sketch something ugly and repeat, then his pencil will break, and the paper will rip, and et cetera.

He just didn’t know what to draw or even had the motivation to draw. But he felt motivated to do something artsy that does not involve himself drawing on his sketchbook. For the past week, he dwindled in the thought of painting the walls of the mission hut, something he thought of on the day Poptarts scratched Elder Cunningham’s CDs. Just imagining the paintings he’d be able to do in the mission hut made him felt delighted. He was willing to do it too…

It’s just… He doesn’t know how to ask Elder McKinley for permission.

Of course he can’t just simply paint the walls. He probably didn’t have the funds for enough painting supplies. Elder Davis claims that he should simply asked, it’s a small task anyway compared to what he talked about with Elder Poptarts on the day of the sister situation. Maybe he had the courage enough to talk now…

At the moment, Elder McKinley was in the kitchen talking to Elder Price (like always), both of them looking all dreamy and flirty to one another. James should’ve known. After their relationship was established, they talked non-stop and like no one else existed in the world.

Poor Poptarts, though, third wheeling every single time. James would always see the small blond trailing behind the talking duo, looking quite queasy and alone. This is probably why he stuck with James and Elder Davis instead, at least no one third wheeled there. James didn’t mind; it was nice to have people he can finally trust and talk with in this world.

Speaking of Poptarts, the blond seemed to look too uncomfortable that he left the kitchen and sat beside James, giving a small smile. “Hey,” he greets with his small voice. James waves a small hello but returns to stare at his sketchbook blankly.

“You drawin’ anything?” Poptarts sits closer to James, sliding in to stare at his blank page. Perplexed, he pouts a second, then looks at James, “Uh, where’s the drawing?” he asks, eyeing the blank page weirdly.

“I have a bad case of ‘art block’. I feel cursed.” James says, throwing his arms in the air as he leans back on the couch. He was so tempted to throw the sketchbook across the room. It was silent for a moment until James stares at the blond, then he sighs. Now he just wanted to burn his sketchbook—he just felt so demotivated to do things.

“You know elder, the mission hut is so… bland.” James changes the topic and averts his gaze to the plain and bland walls the mission hut has, “Wouldn’t it be fun to paint the walls? Like, uh, like, you know, we add some designs… something to represent the elders of this district!” he beams as Elder Poptarts nods, looking quite intrigued by the idea. James admits, he hasn’t rambled like this to anyone but Elder Davis before, so it felt somewhat relieving that Elder Poptarts was listening to him all ears.

“That’s not a bad idea…” Elder Poptarts agrees, nodding at him. James was delighted at this, “Why don’t you tell Elder McKinley? You can’t paint the walls if you don’t have supplies.” Poptarts states, making him freeze for a moment. Asking Elder McKinley something seemed like a troubling task. And the idea is quite… selfish… without the support from the mission president, they lacked in funds abundantly. So, asking for paint and supplies was quite troublesome, selfish, and money-wasting.

“Uh, well, I don’t think we can afford such.” Replies James, his blissful mood disappearing. “And I don’t think everybody would agree to the idea… paint does smell bad… but we can add vanilla extract—uh, it’s just too expensive and time-wasting.” His excuse turns into inaudible mumbling as his eyes wandered off. Poptarts didn’t seem too pleased by this.

“Oh come on, Elder Church! It’s a wonderful idea!” he reassured him, clasping his hands together, “These walls are bland anyways, you should try painting them! Imagine their surprised faces!” Elder Poptarts states, and James nods. It was a wonderful thought, but James doesn’t think he was courageous enough to do all these things. He pouts.

Poptarts looks at him funnily, “Not forcing you or anything, but this is actually a great idea. Don’t put your hopes down.” He smiles at him softly, then their conversation changes to something else.

It’s not that James doesn’t want to paint—art was practically his life. And the opportunity to paint is something incredible to him, but for now, he doesn’t think he can actually tell this to everyone. He’ll consider what Poptarts says, but for now, he might be okay with just a mechanical pencil and a sketchbook.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The next day, it was simply a boring rest day. All the elders were simply loafing around in the living room, all trying different lying positions on both the couch and floor. Hell, Elder Schrader was lying on the floor as his legs simply hung on the couch. They were simply just tired from proselytizing and staying under the sun (James claims it was like a deadly laser, Davis agrees).

Elder McKinley and Elder Poptarts weren’t currently here, they were off to the market going grocery shopping. They did this weekly anyway, so it was a normal thing…

…until James realizes Poptarts and McKinley came in accompanied by Nabulungi and Mafala, all of them bringing boxes of what James assumed was groceries… But usually, groceries would be in bags that two people can usually carry, but boxes with two other people seemed suspicious.

“Woah, are we having a fiesta?” Elder Cunningham gets up from his spot on the floor, “I’m down for a fiesta.” He says as he pushes Elder Price to get up, approaching Elder McKinley and Elder Poptarts oh so eagerly. McKinley shakes his head as he plops down all the boxes on the floor, next to the couch.

“Oh Elder Chu-urch!” he sing-songs, catching the brunette’s attention. James turns to see the redhead district leader approach him in a giddy manner and James simply sits up to talk to him (and try his best not to break down mid-conversation).

“Y-yes, Elder McKinle—“ he was cut mid-sentence by Elder McKinley pulling him by the wrist and pretty much dragged him to the boxes. Bewildered, James pulls his arm away.

“What’s this?” he asks as his eyes point at the boxes on the floor. Poptarts appeared beside Elder McKinley, flashing a big smile. McKinley followed, both of them looking quite gleeful and cheery for a hot Ugandan afternoon.

“Open it.” Elder Poptarts told him, James feeling the such anticipation. He eyes them weirdly before kneeling and opening the boxes.

And it looked like his personal heaven.

The boxes were filled to the brim with painting supplies and materials. In fact, four boxes were filled with them, like he was an honored carpenter or something. He turns to Poptarts in disbelief, his mouth gaping at the boxes full of materials. He just felt so shocked and giddy at the same time that he didn’t know how to function properly.

The first thing he remembered he did was grab Elder Poptarts’ tie and pull him into a tight hug, much to the surprise (and secret delight) of Elder McKinley. Poptarts squirmed for a moment at the inevitable move he did, but he hugged back completely afterwards. Like what James thought, he was not functioning correctly. That probably caused such an unexpected hug.

Then when James was able to compose him, he let go immediately, looking at the quite uncomfortable-looking Elder Poptarts. He was flushing like a tomato; James suspects it was from the immense embarrassment he gave. “Sorry,” he mumbled, “Sorry, I got too… excited.” He apologized, rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment.

“It’s alright, elder…” then he pauses, his gaze averting to the boxes beside him, then to Elder McKinley, “Elder McKinley, d’ya wanna explain what these are?” Poptarts completely changes the subject, much to James’ delight. The atmosphere was awkward already.

McKinley beamed and nodded, “Alright.” He replied, then faced the chilling elders (not so chill, it was like a thousand degrees in Uganda), “Elders, elders! I have an announcement!” McKinley called out as he clapped twice, all the sluggish elders looked at him blankly, “Elder Church here has an idea and needs your approval!” he starts, all the elders intrigued.

James turns to Poptarts, “You told him?” asks James, still feeling quite giddy at the painting materials and supplies.

“Of course! Your idea was spectacular, I couldn’t just keep it to myself… anyway, Elder McKinley loved it! He said it was fabulous.” Poptarts replied, smiling widely at James.

“We just need to know if it’s okay for Elder Church to paint the walls of the mission hut. As we all know, the hut’s walls are bland and plain with nothing on’em. So Elder Church here claims that he can paint the walls according to what y’all like! Example, he’d paint Disney to resemble Elder Price or comic book characters to resemble Elder Zelder!” he explains, much to the liking of most of the elders. “So what d’ya say?” McKinley offers a big grin.

“I’m down for that!” Elder Schrader shouts as the rest of the elders follow up with more nods of agreement and positive comments on it. McKinley clasps his hands gratefully.

“Great! So, for the next few days, the walls will be painted. Just a reminder, nobody’s allowed to touch the walls and the walls might smell a tad bit foul… but the outcome will be amazing, right Elder Church?” McKinley turns his head to James, who suddenly felt pressure drop onto him like an anvil.

“Y-yea!” he responds too quickly, but the elders didn’t seem to mind.

“Alrighty, this is great!” he exclaims as he claps his hands twice, “Now go back to whatever you were doing… Elder Price…!” McKinley finishes.

James never felt such pressure and determination fill him so quickly. Yes, he did feel anxious, but he felt honored too! None of the elders seemed to acknowledge him like this before. He turns to his right to see Elder Poptarts still silently sitting there, staring at him, waiting for him to say something.

For the first time, James was the first one who beams and smiles. “Thank you.” James smiles brightly and genuinely.

“N-now you’re the one that’s saying thank you.” Poptarts seemed to flush deep, unbeknownst to James. But he smiles back anyways. “You’re welcome.”

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The wall painting project has started, but of course, James didn’t immediately start painting. Like every artist, they had to start with a simple draft, and for James, he had drawn his small draft on his sketchbook. Lucky for him, he didn’t have an art block today, and his drafts were absolutely perfect to him. The designs he made impressed himself, much to his delight.

Beside him was Elder Davis who was giving mild suggestions for the designs. James wasn’t complaining, though, he was living for Elder Davis’ creative suggestions: the characters from Star Trek and Star Wars battling for Elder Cunningham, characters from Heathers the Musical jumbled with the Hamilton characters, cute puppies for Elder Davis and the like. He was in love with his ideas, immediately doodling them once he spoke about it.

While sketching, James couldn’t help but eavesdrop at the conversation Elder McKinley and Elder Price had. Apparently, Elder McKinley sounded quite furious and irritated at Elder Poptarts for something. But how can someone be mad at such a nice person? So, he decided to tell Elder Davis to stop giving him requests for the moment so he can listen to their conversation in the kitchen.

“Can you believe him? He snuck and bought two boxes of this new Poptart flavor!” he heard Elder McKinley ramble with a cross voice, “And he bought a limited edition flavor! Those cost like a bajillion dollars! Plus, we bought the paint, and we asked money from Mafala too! You know how irritating that is?” he continues rambling as Elder Price simply nods at his statements.

“I’m so going to talk to him later… he already has a cabinet full of poptarts and a box of them in our shared room. He’s too obsessed with’em.” Elder McKinley states.

And on cue, Elder Poptarts had walked in the area from the bathroom. Poptarts awkwardly walks into the kitchen, opening his poptart cabinet to grab a box of poptarts. James assumed it might’ve been the new flavor he bought. He stopped sketching to watch the seen on front of him unfold.

“Elder, how gullible you must be for buying a new flavor!” McKinley spoke with a hint of sarcasm, clasping his hands together, “Vanilla Latte flavor cost a fortune, what were you thinking?” asks McKinley as Poptarts silently started toasting one packet.

“Just let me be. I’ll just pay for’em next time…” Elder Poptarts speaks ever so softly, James barely heard what he said. “I’m sorry, okay? I couldn’t help myself.” Poptarts had a hint of nervousness in his voice as he watches the poptart becoming prepared.

McKinley pauses for a moment, his face turning a bit soft for a moment, “Alright, fine, but don’t sneak them in the grocery next time.” He warns him before he and Elder Price left to, what James assumes, proselytize in the village.

Why would Poptarts buy a new flavor of poptart? James knew each poptart had its own emotion established on it and now he had a new poptart to deal with. Vanilla Latte, something quite new to him. But what new emotion did Elder Poptarts find? What thing was the poptart representing?

“Yoohoo, Elder Church, get back to drawing, I have some more things to express!” Elder Davis snaps him back to reality, and James went back to drawing.

Unbeknownst to James, Poptarts would continue eating the same poptart daily.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Proselytizing was a mentally and physically-draining task.

Mentally, because one has to battle the demon whispering words of temporary rest that would engage in laziness, another is the struggle of finding the proper words to convince the people to actually listen, and lastly deny all of the stirring questions about faith.

Physically—the sun is enough to explain, James questions his endurance most of the time, he is surprised he can still sputter words and walk straight in this unbearable heat, the wind doesn't help—it's humid, it makes his skin burn.

But today, James was spared from all of this. McKinley has given his project a green light, and advised to start on the project as soon as possible. ("I'm really excited for the outcome, good luck! No pressure!") Alongside him was Davis—who was also granted an off for proselytizing—eccentric as he gets to create a masterpiece (—or butcher it.)

James shows the rough sketch from his own notebook. "I don't understand anything," says Davis, tilting his head towards the side in order to find a sense of coherency and order.

"Well...it's my own language, you'll see." James replies, leaving his sketchbook by the arm rest of the couch. "Just please help me out with the things and all."

Davis nods in reply, heading nearer towards the chores board, and grabbing the rack wherein all the painting supplies are. The moment James touches the wooden handle of the brush, he feels sparks of elation fill him, he feels invincible. He'd swipe one of his fingers just above its bristles, and smiles inwardly.

James asks for the can of yellow paint, as soon as the tin can was opened, a still scent occupied the whole household. Davis is on his verge to puking, whilst James seems to sniff it, he knows he's weird, but believe-it-or-not, this was what he missed from home. He missed painting, he misses his jackets tainted with irremovable paint stains, and hands paint-splattered that he'd have to stress over on how to remove them.

James doesn't bother to get messy now.

He dips the brush, dragging it along the wall to create a rather wobbly line. James grins and laughs to himself, Davis gives him a questioning look. "It's been two years since I've done this," James snorts. "look what time did to my hands." Davis heavily lands his palm on James shoulder. "It's only a sketch, brother. I'm sure your skills are still intact."

James grins a bit wider, and mutters a small thanks, does a firm little handshake, and goes back to business.

They've invested hours in this, only taking a break when they needed water or nature called unto them.

James heads farther back, looking so far at the sketch he and Davis painted over the wall. It was looking great so far, he takes note. He doesn't spot any major anatomical mistake so far, and his ideas remain the same like it is from the sketchbook. James can't help but feel pride swell within him. This is going to be amazing.

A bell rings, James checks over to the entrance of the household to see an Elder Poptarts who had his back hunched. His blue eyes didn't possess that glimmer, and his steps were heavier than usual, despite wearing just his socks.

Elder Poptarts has his two fingers hooked by the tongue of his shoes; he passes over by the living room.

"Hello, Elder!" says James, facing towards the direction where Elder Poptarts is in.

Elder Poptarts pauses his movements, before smiling a mirthless smile, sighing, he greets: "Hello..." and heads towards the shoe rack.

"Huh, he's got lot of lots of load." The corner of Davis' mouth turns downward. "That fella seems to be smiling every time," Davis looks over towards Elder Poptarts bending downwards to have his shoe put.

"wait—what, did you do anything to him?" Davis elbows James. "Did you?"

"No, I didn't." came James' reply.

"You should talk to him."

"...I don't think this the proper time, Elder." James exhales. "We should most likely give him his time alone. “

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The clock is the only thing audible throughout the whole missionary household. The minute and second hand land on 12. 12:00 AM, it read.

While cicadas sing their songs, paws shift on a thicket outside. A dim light indoor shines over James's brown hair, clad in his temple garments, fisted hands on his waist as he stares at the wall that was once only colored with vague yellow lines—now in vibrant color. Every illustration grows vivid, as it is added with shadows and light. James cannot restraint the pride taking up as a smile that formed at his lips.

But of course, the longer he stares, the more he finds some inconsistencies. James believes he should add a bit more of red on Luke Skywalker's face, it seemed too bland—Darth Vader's light saber showed a vibrant red, and the light that should show on Luke's face should be more vibrant, it was too gray.

Oh— he didn't shade Elphaba's left arm, whoops. There's another one, where were the eyebrows?

"Forgot to place them." James mutters to himself. He'll just have to smother brown paint on it, that'll work.

He continues to work, dipping his brush with a vibrant red, dropping a minuscule amount over Luke Skywalker's face. "Disgusting." James groans. It grew worse, now Luke's face looks like it's bleeding. He regrets trying to fix his previous mistake, it looks worse now. James simply sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

A door creaks open and closes shut. James sees a frail figure heading towards his way, the dim light reveals blond fringes. Elder Poptarts.

"You seem to be up way too early, Elder." James remarks, quirking one of the corners of his mouth up. "What's going on?"

Elder Poptarts weakly smiles, shaking his head. "Nothing, I just...I just felt like waking up." Poptarts grips his own thin arms, muttering a word so soft that James catches as inaudible. "Do you need some help there?"

"If you'd like to help me, feel free." James answers. Elder Poptarts nears him and takes a closer look at the paintings on the wall. James witnesses Elder Poptarts' jaw drop— "This is beautiful." he says.

"Thank you." James feels his face flush lightly. Showing his art to people, even to Davis still makes him quite shy, them complimenting about it adds a light tint to grace his face.

"What can I do?" asks Elder Poptarts, his eye bags betrayed his eager eyes.

"Do you want to paint the poptart over there?"

"Of course!" Elder Poptarts exclaims. James gives Poptarts the liberty to choose whatever color he desired. Pink, yellow, white, and blue were the color of his choice. Before painting, he submerges his paint brush with pink, it one droplet of pink fell to the ground.

With undeniable little finesse, Poptarts paints the supposed icing in disorganized strokes. James takes notice of this, snorts a bit, and abandons his paint brush to become nearer to the seemingly struggling Elder.

"Elder, you're supposed to paint in only one stroke..." James laughs, he notices Elder Poptarts flush, convinced that it has something to do with embarrassment. Poptarts grins sheepishly as he scratches the back of his neck. "Here, I'll show you." James takes Elder Poptarts smaller hands that gripped the paintbrush and guided it to create one simple line. They do it for around 5 times. The upper part of the icing is now cleanly painted. "See, not that hard—right?" James assures him. Elder Poptarts just stares at him back.

"Uhm," Elder Poptarts gazes down on his hand, James gripping it. "my—"

"Oh, pardon." James immediately lets go of the hand, misses its warmth and softness, Elder Poptarts had nice hands, James agrees on that. God did a pretty good job on it.

"Thank you." Poptarts seemed to mouth this, but in fact said this, it was just so soft. "I guess...I'll..." Elder Poptarts purses his lips. "head back?"  
James nods his head and smiles. "Good night...o-or morning, Elder!" James greets.

James watches Elder Poptarts head towards his room. James checks the clock, and his eyes widen that it would be only five minutes before 1:00. He fixes the painting equipment, and glances over to the Poptart illustration towards the left, remains of unequal strokes marked the unfinished frosting.

James pulls up another smile. He fails to notice how his beam reached ear to ear.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

James was incredibly exhausted, his arms probably hurt from painting. It seemed impossible for a person to be tired from painting, but if you extend your arm to paint the top of the wall for hours straight, it would end up sore. Everything was worth in in the end, though. The immense amount of compliments and wide eyes he got this morning was overwhelming (and he remembers Elder Cunningham shrieking, then he inevitably faints.)

Still, he was so tired, and there was so much left to paint. At least three-fourths of the walls are finished—all that’s left is some poptarts, Esmeralda from Hunchback of Notre Dame, and the Heathers from the musical Heathers (James loves the Heathers). At least it was just a few left to color, then he is free, maybe he’d be honored by Elder McKinley and the other elders.

Now, he decided not to paint to regain the feeling in his arms. His arms felt sore and floppy and everything negative. At the moment, he was waiting for Elder Poptarts so he’d finish the painting of poptarts on the wall. No, he was not lazy, he just wanted to give Poptarts the liberty to finish the coloring he started.

It’s just, Elder Poptarts wasn’t here at all. Elder McKinley doesn’t seem to know (or care) where he is, and it’s been at least two hours. None of the other elders seem to know too. So maybe he should turn to their parrot for information.

Yes, they did have a parrot, James wasn’t joking. Apparently, Elder Davis and Elder McKinley were able to attract some grey parrot from outside and the bird never left since. So, they decided to keep it. Using a makeshift cage and some bird food from Nabulungi, they were able to care for the parrot.

According to McKinley, it was useful for tracking elders too. As long as you say your destination fifty times to the parrot, the parrot will remember it and will say it if an elder asks where this person is. It was a smart parrot, James admits, he didn’t really think a simple bird might think like that.

At the moment, he was really tempted to ask the parrot where Elder Poptarts was. It may be an overreaction, but he just really wanted to finish painting the walls. The faster he finishes, the better. So, he turned to the parrot that was silently pecking on some crumbs Davis gave it a while ago. If he recalls, they named him Hamilton after the musical and founding father (“he just wouldn’t shut up like him!” says Davis).

He approaches the parrot, quite unsure what to say. It was blankly staring at him, so he just stared back. James tries to convince himself his social anxiety shouldn’t overwhelm him here—this was a parrot! “Uh, hello there, Hamilton.” James waves at it, and it tilts its head as he looks at him.

Gee, this really was nerve-wracking. How does this even work? “Well—“

“Market.” It squawked, “Market, market.” It squawked, and James sighed. At least he had an answer.

“Alright, thank you.” James might be stupid for trusting the parrot, but it did find Davis one time when he was playing with some rabbits. McKinley tells the elders to trust it during missing scenarios, so James might trust it. Not a hundred percent, though, it was still a parrot.

James took one last glance at the parrot before grabbing his shoes from the shoe rack and heading outside. It was boring indoors anyways, and he didn’t have much energy to paint again. So, maybe he can just wait for Elder Poptarts while watching some villagers get along. Maybe he can gain inspiration from watching all the people outside.

Outside, it was scorching hot, but James admits he probably got used to the Ugandan sun a bit like the other elders. He does not understand how the other elders can stay out her 24/7 without getting a tan or sunburn. James and Elder Davis rarely go out because they really don’t want to proselytize in sticky clothing.

Suddenly, in the distance, there was the man he was looking for. Poptarts was near the abandoned village well, weirdly looking down at the well. James decided to wait for Poptarts to be finished with whatever he’s doing but after a few minutes, Poptarts still continued looking down the well.

James decided to interfere.

“Hey, Elder Poptarts!” James calls out, smiling, but his smile immediately drops when he realizes Poptarts had a look of panic. James approached him a bit quicker, hoping the small blond didn’t do anything wrong. “Poptarts? What’s wrong?” James reaches a hand out for the blond man, grabbing his forearm.

“I dropped my poptarts.” Poptarts speaks, a hint of panic scattered in his voice as he points at the well. “Those were expensive.” He adds, and James doesn’t know if he was serious or joking. He cocks an eyebrow at him, quite perplexed. He knows he loves poptarts, but does dropping poptarts in the well really give you much panic? James knew it helped Elder Poptarts express himself, but he had millions more poptarts back at the mission hut.

“But you have so many,” James tried not to sound annoyed or confused. He didn’t want to worsen Poptarts’ situation, especially when he realizes the whole week he had been sulking since the sister situation. “What’s the difference if you lose that box?” Asks James, probably failed at comforting when he sees Poptarts’ eyes widen when he got closer.

“I need those poptarts because I ran out of Vanilla Latte ones,” Poptarts’ voice was quickening, tainted with panic, “And I need them because for the whole week I was feeling unwell and it took me hours to go to Kampala and not get Elder McKinley be mad at me now I have no way I can place my sulkiness to because the poptarts fell and I don’t want to return—“

“Poptarts, breathe,” James instructed, but Poptarts probably ignored it as he continued. The blond was slowly moving backwards as the stones on the well seemed to move. James failed to notice the loose bricks. “And now I have no way to turn my feelings off and I’m left to panic until the next days we have to go to the market which is in two weeks and I might go insane without my Vanilla Latte Poptarts—“

All the bricks of the abandoned well has fallen off…

…Along with Poptarts himself.

Poptarts was brought back to reality when he realizes he isn’t stepping on land anymore. James shrieked, but shrieked even more when Poptarts extended his arm to pull James’ tie, bringing him down along with him. Poptarts eventually let go, and James’ instincts popped up and he immediately started moving his arms at the edge of the well to grab something or anything!

Fortunately, there was some vine he was able to cling on. His palms sweaty, he freezes and takes a few deep breaths. He knows he might not last long here, but he takes those few seconds to find something to cling on to on the bottom of the well. But maybe he can go up? But Elder Poptarts landed on the bottom, and he definitely landed with a loud thud (probably broke a bone!). He didn’t want to leave him alone—

The vine breaks in the midst of his panicky thoughts, and James is left falling down farther down the well. He sticks to the side, hoping for anything to grab (even if the rough walls left marks and gashes on his arm). James bit his lip at how his arm stung from the marks, but he kept falling until his hand was able to grip unto something (it was another vine, luckily).

He lets go of the branch after a few seconds, then lands safely on the bottom. The bottom of the well was filled with polluted water and grey gak, something James didn’t bother touching.

Then he remembers Poptarts.

“Elder!” James had approached the fallen blond warily, immediately falling to his knees right beside the blond. “Poptarts, are you okay?” James felt panic rise within him as he analyzes the position Poptarts landed in. He hears a groan as the blond man’s eyes blinked open.

“Hmph,” Poptarts groans again as he immediately sits upright, but hissed once he tried moving his left arm.

“Oh my, are you okay, does your arm hurt, is it broken?” James spoke with immense panic and Poptarts nods. James immediately moved to Poptarts’ left side, observing the broken arm. James doesn’t really remember how first aid works a hundred percent, but he knew he didn’t want to further damage the broken arm, so maybe he should just keep it put?

“ELDER CHURCH, ELDER THOMAS!” A shout from above, it was Elder McKinley. James thanked the Lord the redhead found them quickly, or else they would’ve been stuck to starve in the well for days. “ARE YOU ALRIGHT, I’LL CALL THE OTHER ELDERS!”.

“We’re fine! Please just hurry up.” James shouted back, his voice wavering.

Then, James looks at Poptarts who was silently hugging his knees with his non-broken arm. He looked as guilty as ever.

“Do you mind if we talk about what just happened here?” James sits on front of him, putting one comforting hand on his knee.

"Uhm, I'm not so sure, Elder. I-uh—" Elder Poptarts mutters. James can barely understand the words Poptarts' nervous spiel. Elder Poptarts turns his head to look at James dead in the eye. James has a thin wall of defense encompassed around him. With a sharp intake of breathe, Poptarts says: "Nothing Elder, I just decided that it would be a complete waste of the mission's money if something this expensive fell. I'm compelled to save it."

James breaks the intense lock of eyes and sees a blue box floating in muck. The box was soaked, the things inside could be soaked as well, and who would want to eat poptarts soiled with moss, deposits of other animals, things that may be over a century old, and a scent that resembled rotten eggs? That was just vile.

But James risks it, maybe it isn't. After all, the poptarts inside are incased in a packet. That's the second source of hope he's clinging unto right now, (the first is that Elder McKinley would go get their other colleagues as well.) that Elder Poptarts wouldn't look so glum, after all the sulking Poptarts exhibited, James could never get accustomed to the sad demeanor.

James reaches for the box, and hands it over to Elder Poptarts. "Well, here they are..."

Elder Poptarts accepts it with his lone-functioning arm, and flashes a mirthless smile to James. But noticing how soaked and dirty it was, he completely just throws it away, giving a little shock to James. A wave of sadness still engulfed Poptarts.

James always found that dead air in a conversation scary, it was a choice of fight or flight, except James doesn't know what to fight for, or what to fly for! He couldn't place a finger on it. He spares another glance at Elder Poptarts as the corner of his mouth was still dragged down, and he would wince in pain by the movement he tries to create.

Does he speak, or does he remain silent?

For once, James takes a humongous leap of faith.

"Elder," James suppresses the quiver in his voice. He needed to do this for his friend. "Up there, you said that you had to turn it off? What did you me—"

"It was nothing, Elder. It just came out of my mouth, you know how my mission companion says it every time. Must have been habit." Elder Poptarts nonchalantly explains. James has never seen him like this. This was tearing James apart.

"He...says it to us every time back then, and now...you don't hear me saying that phrase, or anyone, even Elder McKinley himself. It could not be a habit, unless you still believe in turning it off." James knew he was plucking very sensitive strings, and he strums louder. "You still believe in it, don't you?"

Elder Poptarts' breath hitches.

"You do, don't you?" James repeats, much softer. He doesn't know why, but it does. Silence engulfs the claustrophobic space they are in, but James hears a heavy heave and sniffling—it was his entire fault.

"Elder, I'm so—"

"That was her one last wish, and it was simple—" Myriads of tears begin running down Elder Poptarts' small face. "and me just because of prioritizing something so superficial, did not grant the last thing that went out of her last breath!"

"I was really happy when I got that phone, Elder. I was ready to brag it off to everyone," wiping his tears, Elder Poptarts smiles—the action was so unlikely to be done in this situation that it terrified James. Much to James' chagrin, the Elder beside him lets out a laugh. "I know, pride is condoned in our doctrine, but I wanted to feel it for once."

"I went back, and I see my father and mother outside my sister's room. My father was hugging my mom, rocking her gently." Elder Poptarts tries to catch his breath. "I felt so scared, but I tried to be optimistic. It could be about something else, but it couldn't be her. The doctor said she still had two months."

Elder Poptarts' tone started to feel heavier once again. James nods his head to show that he is indeed listening, and wads closer to Elder Poptarts. "My father told me... 'Caroline's gone, she's with Heavenly Father now, son.'"

"After that, I didn't cry, I said 'okay', left the stupid phone, and ran outside." Tears fill the brim of Poptarts' eyes once again, and the tears run down over his face at an intense rate, more and more than his previous break. "Days later, my parents decided to tell me that her last wish was to see me, they said that she kept saying 'Mama, Papa, where's Christopher, where's my brother?'" His voice cracks.

"That butt wishes for lots of things, most are impossible. You know, she wanted to go to Paris and see the ballet there? Also, she wants every poptart in the world to be hers." James lets out a short laugh, and Elder Poptarts manages to smile. "I know...but here...they said that while she was saying this, she was crying. And Caroline never cries, not especially when she's asking for something."

"Then the line goes flat, and there's this ear-piercing nose from that machine, and she's gone...but why? She...she didn't do anything wrong, she didn't!" Poptarts lets out another wave of tears, and this time James decides to hold him. James rubs his hands at Elder Poptarts' back, gently rocking him. "It's, it's always hard to turn it off, Elder." Poptarts says between his shaky breaths.

James hugs him tighter—taking caution to avoid the fellow missionary's injured arm, whatever he would say next might be a bad thing to say, so he resorts back to silence. He feels Elder Poptarts relax against him, which is a good sign.

"My parents gave me box of poptarts that she owned, and in that thing was a pink sticky note, it's written with her cursive: Whenever you feel sad, angry, or anything, eat a poptart. If you're too lazy to think of one for each, there's one I have for you inside. Enjoy, Saint Christopher." Poptarts says. "D-don't ask me why I memorize the note. The note's my bookmark for the Book of Mormon."

Now James understands, he knew it. A wave of success and pride washes him, but he grounds himself to reality afterwards. James felt sick of himself for taking advantage of this moment, just to seek questions for his underlying curiosity—he shucks his thought away.

"You and your sister would be in my prayers, Elder." James says earnestly, pulling back from the embrace. It could be only him, but he swore Poptarts shivered.

"Christopher." Elder Poptarts states with finality. "Uh, I mean, my name's Christopher, in case you didn't catch who Christopher was in my—uh, breakdown, um—you can call me Chris, though—'cause, you know...Christopher's too formal."

"James." James replies back, smiling sheepishly.

"Nice name! James...it fits you." Elder—Chris remarks with a weak, but genuine smile. "Son of the thunder, unless you were named after James the Less, I'm wrong. Where's your brother, John?"

James releases a hearty laugh. "Oh, I do have a brother named John, real opposite of Bible-John, I don't know, he really seems kind of arrogant." James places his fisted hands on his waist. "My mom named us both after the apostles, quite obvious. The family's trend was J...so, it seemed right for her to name us James and John correspondingly."

"Your name suits you too, Christopher. Reminds me of Christopher Robin from Winnie the Pooh...you remind me of him, personality-wise." James adds.

"I don't know if that's good or bad, but I'll take it as a compliment," Chris replies. "T-thanks, I guess."

"It's a compliment." James assures. Chris' cheeks flush pink at this.

"Uhm by the way, uh Elder—, I mean, James...uh, thank you." Chris diverts the awkward conversation. He was staring down, avoiding eye-contact from James, he also was swaying, and for every sway, water would hit at the ancient bricks of the well.

"Thank you for what?" James' eyebrows furrow in confusion.

"For listening to me a while ago, while I was...spieling. I really appreciated it. Thank you, James." Chris says, now the tips of his ears have become red, and James could no longer see his brown eyes.

"No problem," James replies. "always glad to help."

"Elders!" Elder McKinley's voice resounds through the narrow well. "The ropes' there now. We have the Elders and some of the villagers with us. Holler if you're ready!"

"Hold up!" James yells, to the top of his lungs. He is sure he'll get a sore throat after all of this. He turns to the blond missionary beside him. "Come on Chris," he tugs on Chris injured left arm-- the boy let out a strangled whelp.

"Oy, what is going on there!" Another voice from above intrudes. Must be one of the elders, that was an unmistakably German. Schrader.

James does not have the will to scream back, he was going to rip his vocal chords. Instead, he diverts his attention to Chris. His arm is injured, James recalls. He mentally smacks himself for such ignorance.

James glances once again at Chris. They can't both go up from the well if Chris was in this case! It would be immensely painful for Chris if they did. An idea flashes to his mind. "Okay, uhm, Elder, stay put." James mutters with haste. Chris nods, tears forming by the corner of his eyes.

Perhaps the thing they taught in High-school was important after-all.

With a bit of stock knowledge, James performs a simple first-aid response to Chris' arm. He removes his shirt (it was really dirty anyway, plus, he had a shirt underneath) and improvises a sling for the arm.

"Er, okay...so you can't grip with only one hand," James says. "I have to carry you."

Chris eyes widen, and for a brief minute the tip of his ears turn red, but he mutters a soft "okay", and cracks a tiny smile.

"So, like this..." James crouches down, gesturing to his lap. "Sit here." Chris approaches him, his back facing James. "No, no. Please face me." James feels Chris tense in front of him, but complies with hesitance.

Eventually, Chris does sit in the position James plans. Their faces were in such close proximity, James finds himself gazing at Chris' blue eyes-- it looked nice to capture in a painting. "Uh, so what do...I do next?" Chris halts James' reverie.

"Hold tight," James answers--he feels Poptarts' arm around his neck, it was trembling. "Don't worry, I won't let go of you." James assures--he hoists his arm around Chris' back.

James doesn't know if this'll work. But he glances up and utters a small prayer before he commences the act. He tugs on the rope, testing waters, it seemed sturdy. He wraps the rope around his hand. He knows that he'll have rope burns, but rope burns are certainly better than corroding in a deep ancient well.

"Please pull us up!" James yells once again. The rope begins to move a small distance upwards, before another. The rope was tightening around James' hand and it was turning swollen, but he refused to let go despite the pain.

Another pull upwards, the light was growing by intensity, another and they can get a clearer glimpse of the blue sky, and a great pull follows, and all James could see was a blinding light.

James feels a grainy thing along his skin. He rubs his eyes open, hisses by the rope burn by his hand, and the deadly rays of the sun. Everything around him grows clearer. He glances down to see Poptarts' head buried by the crook of his neck, and glances upwards to see concerned faces of the missionaries. James pats the Chris' back, and Chris retreats, teary eyed, and flushed. James sits up before standing, afterwards settling Chris back on his feet, James draped Chris' right arm around his neck, supporting Chris' rather limp body. "He needs to go to Gotswana," James announces with sternness. Elders Michaels and Zelder approach James and takes Poptarts to the make-shift medical hut.

James was left with the other elders, he crouched and sucked in a breath, before McKinley approaches him.

"What happened down there, Elder Schrader said he heard something." McKinley asks.

"Gosh, Elder...we-I, I did nothing!" James refutes, McKinley quirks an eyebrow. "Elder Thomas' arm was injured, it was normal he'd yelp from time to time!" James explains, heat was occupying his face, but he was convinced it was due to the sun.

"What!?" Elder McKinley's eyes widen. "Oh dear, I never got to see clearly...no wonder," the district leader lets out another gasp. "Your hand, your arm! It's bleeding!"

James glances at it, and mutters a nonchalant 'oh'. "It's alright, it'll heal by itself."

"What do you mean 'it'll heal by itself'? It'll get infected with nasty things, I'm not letting this become the third case of gangrene-filled wounds. Go to the clinic." McKinley advices sternly.

"No need to—" McKinley pushes James before he even finishes his sentence. "Go to the clinic, Elder. That's an order."

James stands longer for a while, not really minding the show of McKinley's aggressiveness. He instantly regrets it once Elder McKinley bites his lip, and turns completely red. "Elder Church," McKinley's voice monotonous, he sucks in a breath. "CLINIC, NOW!"

That's when James scrambles and runs to Gotswana's.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

James hisses, no matter how many times alcohol has been placed to the numerous wounds he had a child, he would never get used to it. Gotswana tends to James' wounds, placing a bandage to each of it.

"This is why you boys, " Gotswana reaches over to the table to get another bandage. "Should stay away from things you do not know."  
James utters a butchered "Mahaneibu" anyway, which Gotswana replies to a "You're welcome" in Swahili.

Gotswana tends to Chris afterwards James noticed that Chris had been staring at him, they locked eyes for a while, an encompassing silence filled the clinic, before Gotswana intrudes it.

"Oy, are you enemies of something?" Gotswana asks. "I am sure that you out of everyone does not want us to fight each other."

"It's nothing..." Chris says softly. Gotswana makes a non-committal sound before wrapping Chris' now-casted left arm with a rather tattered blue sling. Chris cracks a small grin, giving thanks to the doctor's help.

Gotswana advices Chris to return for around three weeks to check on the arm, and gives the two boys a bit of a lecture in regards to maintaining a healthy relationship, after getting the message of their supposed "dislike" for each other. James would love to disagree, however Gotswana would just cut him up for another proverb.

The two head back to the missionary household, battling the scorching heat of the sun. James curiosity bites at him once again, he asks:  
"Do you mind if I ask," James kicks on the pebble down at the red ground. "Do you after all dislike—"

"Yes." Chris cuts him off. Now James understan— "No, no! I meant...I don't mind that you ask, and I don't, I don't dislike you!" Chris explains, his hands creating a gestures one after the other.

"...You don't?" James asks, reassuring.

"No, no, I don't dislike you," The blond Elder confirms.

"Not at all." Chris whispers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, we planned this and we didn't realize we made a DEH reference so... No DEH, please, we both don't like the musical (but we respect those who do!). Also, we're not so mega-fans of Hamilton, but the name fit for the parrot so much.. Hint for the next chapter: kissing!
> 
> Tumblr accounts:  
> @appleflavoredkitkats and @littledaisyfloret !


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINAL CHAPTER! All I can say is I hope this inspires people to notice ChurchTarts a bit more? Welp, anywho, enjoy this. Pretty short but still good? Let's play "Spot the Elder Neeley is an alien" scene.

The rest of the walk home was close to silent, yet, both seemed to be very consistent at staring at each other. They catch each other gazing at one another and uncomfortably look away, both flushed in a deep shade of red. Honestly, James never felt quite this embarrassed in his whole life; and the clenching feeling in his chest is not helping. But still, he blamed his flustering from the heat wave the Ugandan sun offered and the rough gashes and rope burns he got on his arm mixed with rubbing alcohol.

But eventually (and fortunately), the mission hut was in sight. A wave of relief passed over James as he sees it—he just wants to get out of this situation and paint the embarrassment away.

“Elder—James.” Elder Poptarts—Chris, interrupts his wave of relief and grabs his arm with his uninjured arm. Before James could even respond, Chris had pulled him a few feet away from the mission hut door. Chris had moved on front of him and firmly gripped James’ forearm even tighter.

James jumbled a response. Thankfully, Chris had started the conversation, “O-okay, you know how poptarts help me express how I feel?” Chris speaks, a hint of fright scattered in his small voice. James nods, quirking an eyebrow at him. “Well, we left the poptarts in the well, and I can’t go back to the market…” Chris pauses, and stares directly at James, his blue eyes looking straight at his brown ones.

“Since I don’t have the poptarts, I need to express those feelings I… turned off… is that alright?” His voice was pacing faster and faster by the moment and James sworn he could feel Chris’ hand shaking and trembling against his forearm.

“Uh, sure, elder! What do you need to—“

And his lips crash to his.

Oh.

Oh.

At the moment, it feels like James forgot to think and move. He was frozen in place as Chris pulls him down to reach him. Wait, is he supposed to kiss back? Was this even a kiss? Is this just a test for his sexuality, or his devotion to Heavenly Father, or is he even kissing him or giving a mouth to mouth exercise? 

Something screams ‘whatever!’ at the back of his head as his lips seemed to tingle. He was uncomfortable, but this was ironically pleasing. It made him feel giddy and wonderful, eventually concluding Chris was indeed kissing him and tries kissing back… or however kisses were.

But immediately after he accepts this new sensation, Chris immediately pulls away and clasps a hand over his mouth, his eyes too confused and surprised and so wide and everything. He walks backwards for a few moments before running away as fast as possible, the mission hut door opened and slammed intensely.

Well, what a good first kiss James received.

James stares at the empty doorway blankly as his hands fly up to his lips, still traced with such a sensation. It still tingled, sparks of thoughts filled his mind. 

He just kissed Elder Chris “Poptarts” Thomas.

His entire face was immediately red as a tomato, his cheeks giving off an intense heat like the Ugandan sun. His lips and hands quivered as an immense amount of anxious and giddy thoughts filled his head.

It’s just he didn’t think he’d be attached to anyone, especially Chris Thomas. He didn’t know how to feel attached to someone romantically. He didn’t know he had those gay boxes like what McKinley had inside his head. Maybe he was ignoring it? Or maybe it just appeared as Chris kissed him? Whatever the origin was, he’s fully aware of the situation right now.

Chris liked him romantically.

James is confused but likes him back.

And he doesn’t know how to approach the situation.

He tries to regain composure and breathe, hoping this feeling in his chest (hopefully it was just the fast heartbeat) would tone down just a bit. He clenches his fists as he walks in the mission hut, finding it completely empty. He hesitantly walks inside like if he were in a horror film and looks around.

Chris was definitely in his room, locked up in the corner or something. Did James want to try to apologize or confront him? No, but he knew he had to. Again, hesitantly, he walks in the hallways to Chris’ and McKinley’s shared room, knocking the door lightly.

No response.

“Chris?”

No response again.

“Chris, we need to talk.”

It was dead silent. 

He reached for the doorknob, but of course, it was locked. He breathed in deeply, this was hopeless. He turns around slowly, still having hopes up if Chris would answer the door or not. After a whole minute of silence, he knew he shouldn’t bother—like he said to Davis before: "We should most likely give him his time alone.”.

He walked away silently and crushed, but regained a bit of inspiration by looking at the walls he painted on. He remembers the unfinished piece of Chris, turns to find it and somewhat was half surprised and half entertained by the fact it was sloppily finished.

The poptarts was the same color it was like last night, but the paint strokes were ridiculously different, like it was done by a beginner. Well, Chris was a beginner. Though it was like what James instructed him to do last night ("Elder, you're supposed to paint in only one stroke..."), it still looked unbalanced. James remembers to just add some shading to make it seem more grounded.

Okay, he needed his mind off of thinking of Chris. He just has to confront him later. Tomorrow. Next week. When Chris ever approaches him. Okay James, just focus on painting, he tells himself in his head, approaching the shelves of paint McKinley was kind enough to offer him.

“Hey, elder.” Speaking of McKinley, the redhead himself walks in the mission hut, closing the door lightly. James feels his hands grow sweaty as he looks at him nervously while handling a box of painting materials. 

Elder McKinley wore the most mixed expression James had ever seen. Wait, did he see? Was James so bad at hiding expressions? What did James look like at the moment? You probably look like a nervous wreck, a voice peered in from the back of his head. He shook that thought away and averted his attention back at the district leader. 

Weirdly, Elder McKinley still stood there as he glared? Gazed? Stared at James. It wasn’t even a normal stare, it felt pressuring. The district leader approached him slowly (and to James, a little bit menacingly) and just stared at him even more. James stood, his hands still carrying the box of materials.

“Look, we need to talk.” Talking to Elder McKinley wasn’t usually a thing James had. It felt different from his usual. Elder McKinley wasn’t something he did confidently like Elder Davis, or awkward like Chris. Chris. Why did his name give him such a sensation? James mentally slaps himself as he feels his cheeks go hot.

The district leader sighed and grabbed the box away and placed it on the floor. He then sat on the couch, beckoning James to sit beside him, patting the empty seat. James sits beside him but an unsettling force pulls him back quite a bit. He mentally begged his anxiety to get out during this situation.

“I saw what happened outside.” Elder McKinley starts, his palm flies to the back of James, giving him a slight shiver and shock. He did see what happen. His breathing felt a bit off as he hears that. James hoped he had the mental strength to reply or go through this without breaking down. 

“Hey, look, I’m not mad or anything.” Elder McKinley’s expression turns quite concerned and worried after seeing James’ face twitch. “I just wanted to say Poptarts has been having some hell dreams lately.” Now that caught his attention. James quirks an eyebrow at him, fumbling with his fingers.

“Well, I don’t know if it was about you, or his sister at first. But when he started calling out your name, it was concerning.” Elder McKinley states, giving James quite a shock, “He didn’t talk to me about it… well, he didn’t talk to me at all after my thing with… out of subject. Uh, he’s just been very down lately.” McKinley crosses his legs, grabbing one knee with his hands.

“I’m kinda glad he kissed you, actually, he was finally true to his feelings.” He rambles, “It kinda reminded me of myself when I confessed to Elder Price. Honestly, we couldn’t have been together if it weren’t for me… but for Poptarts and you, I can’t help but wonder where you’d go.

“Elder Poptarts is a very shy guy, and this thing he had with you for a while when I was off with Price was special. I didn’t think Poptarts would even be friends to you to be honest, no offense..” He laughs to himself before averting his attention back to his “speech”, “But here you are, confused after he kissed you…” he turns his attention to the hallway, “And I guess he locked himself up in there.” 

“All I’m trying to say now is you’re a very special person to him, Elder Church.” Elder McKinley finally offers a genuine smile, giving James a sense of comfort, “And I know both of you are very confused about everything, but you have to confront each other about this. Get somewhere. Be happy.” Elder McKinley stands up as he places his hands on his hips.

“I’m telling you, this state and feeling of not being confused and actually accepting things is one of the best sensations I’d ever felt in my life. I want you and Poptarts to reach that state too…” James nodded, and he felt a bit more relieved rather than anxious, which was kind of great in his part.

The door of the mission hut slammed open revealing an overly excited Elder Cunningham and his somewhat fed up mission companion Elder Price entering. The prophet was rambling ideas for the Book of Arnold at Elder Price, making James feel a bit pity for the brunette. 

He hears a squeal from Elder McKinley as he approached him and clung unto him like a sloth. Though it was sickening to see them two so clingy with one another, James wondered about if he can reach that state with Chris, like what Elder McKinley says. He grips his fists and stare at them, a weird sense of determination filled him. 

He liked Chris. He knew it now, his mind was set with that idea. He liked, or loved him. And he was going to reach that state with him. 

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Ironically, James’ determination was cut short by some anxiety lurking around his brain. Still, the gay boxes remained in his head, taunting him and luring him to weird situations. 

He had almost finished up painting the wall. According to McKinley, they’d celebrate sometime with a great feast (probably prepared by Elder Price). Many elders already have seen the wall, and they praised James for it. James thinks it looks magnificent, but he wasn’t really feeling some sort of pride out of it.

His mind was still wrapped up with thoughts about Chris. It was obvious he needed to do what Elder McKinley told him to do, but he still hasn’t got the courage to face Chris himself. Most of the time, Chris had an excuse to stay in a different room from him, clinging unto Elder McKinley and Elder Price (Elder McKinley insisting he’d stay but Chris wouldn’t listen) and third wheeling. James usually felt down because of that, usually bringing his sorrows to sketching something.

Another thing Chris loved to do now was to talk to Hamilton, their parrot. Typically it was Elder Davis’ job to communicate with different types of animals, but at the moment, Hamilton seemed to grow affectionate to Chris. James usually passed by Chris rambling to their parrot here and then, and James has to admit, he seemed a bit crazy or insane.

Sometimes James would eavesdrop and hear Chris would be rambling about himself. It was quite, confusing, maybe he’d gone mental? Usually, his talks were just explaining to the parrot how his day was, petting the parrot, or explaining how perplexed he was with the situation he left hanging.

James admits, the two of them weren’t so used to these kinds of problems, causing, of course, this awkward situation they left. Maybe if James would actually listen to McKinley… well, he did! He just needs the perfect time to approach Chris.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

After being dragged by Elder Davis to find this horde of bunnies, James returns to the mission hut sore and tired. James pushes the hair falling on his forehead back as he looks around for anything he can do at the moment.

And there was Chris on the couch, obviously avoiding any contact with James. James looks at him, though, noticing how his sling has disappeared (it honestly reminded James of this one musical, he forgot the name, though, it was pretty overrated) and there were signatures on them. James assumed it was really a thing for those in casts. 

It was scattered with many signs already, one in pink (presumably Elder McKinley), one that has a Mickey Mouse symbol (obviously Elder Price), and one sloppily written with a lightsaber (definitely Elder Cunningham). Maybe he can sign it too? He loved arts anyway.

So here goes nothing.

“Hey, Elder Poptarts!” he says very loud. Did he shout? Many elders seemed to look his way, by many he meant Elder McKinley and Elder Price, and maybe Elder Davis who entered silently after him (but went to Hamilton right after). Chris just looked quite stunned and nervous.

“O-oh, hello, Elder Church.” He seemed to be munching on a poptart. James checks the poptart… and it was a Cinnamon Poptart… the poptart for gratitude. Why was he eating that now? He sure does not look grateful for anything, and usually the poptart is the poptart he shared.

James sits beside him awkwardly, still trying to keep up some conversation and a smile to not look like he will break down in the middle of this situation. But his mind averted its attention back to the poptart… maybe because James knew about the secret now he eats different poptarts. That means he’s hiding more feelings from James.

“Can I sign your cast?” James was able to muster up the courage to say that, thank the Lord. There was a small pause as James realizes that McKinley stopped talking to Elder Price to just stare at them. James shrugs it off and averts his attention back at Chris.

Chris seemed to look half-happy half-nervous, judging by the small smile creeping on his face. “Uh, sure!” He replies, grabbing the black marker from his breast pocket, handing it to James.

James’ hand shakily accepts the marker, and he looks at his cast. His left hand flies down to hold down his arm, his fingers brush Chris’. He’s really trying not to flush at the moment as he thinks of something to write.

“What’s your favorite musical?” asks James, removing the cap of the marker.

“Wicked!” Chris says in a somewhat excited manner. He tones down for a moment, “Wicked, Wicked.” He says.

James nods, and he decides to draw Elphaba with the words “Defy Gravity” beside it. It wasn’t the best to draw on a cast, but he succeeds anyway, signing his name directly after.

Chris smiles at James as he checks out the sign, “I love it, this is the best!” he compliments, looking directly at James afterwards.

Oh no, James thinks, palms sweaty, anxiety is creeping in. Chris’ smile slowly moves downwards, his cheeks definitely flushing red as they connect eye contact.

“U-uh, Chris, I think we need to—“

“P-pardon.” Chris stands, both fists clenching tightly. James looks up at him, tempted to grab his arm and tug him back beside him.

“B-but I think we need to—“

“Stop.” He says more sternly, but still had a hint of fright. He places down his unfinished poptart on the plate, then walks a bit further.

“Really, I don’t think—“

“Please,” he sounded like he was begging, it terrified James, “d-don’t talk to me.” 

And just like that, he disappears in the hallway.

For a moment there, James felt a bit numb, confused mostly, but numb. Was this the feeling of… what’s the word… rejection? Or denial? Or something negative? His hand clenches the marker tighter before a wave of panic and sorrow passed him.

Was he overreacting? He can talk to Chris sometime soon, again, eventually… He feels the eyes of the other elders stare at him, pressuring him quite a ton. 

He just didn’t feel something like this for a long time. He screwed up badly. Will he even be able to fix this? Was he going to lose another important person to him again? Why does he feel so bad? Why does that, out of everything, sting? He can talk to him, again anyway. But what if it fails again? What if—

“Elder Church, buddy.” James’ mind snaps back to normal as he sees his mission companion on front of him, looking quite concerned, “Are you okay?” his hand seemed to fly on James’ forearm.

“I’m fine.” James felt a bit of a sting when he said those words. How many times had he said those words before?

“Yea, no kidding,” he stares directly at James’ eyes, “You’re crying.” He states, and immediately, James hands fly up to his eyes, feeling wetness on his cheeks.

He tries wiping his tears away, looking away from Elder Davis, but the opposite happens: more tears continued falling. He usually isn’t the kind of person who would cry nowadays, he was used to everything so it was rare for him to cry. 

He sees Elder Davis’ eyes widen as he tries his best to calm James down. “Wha—I didn’t mean—“ great, he made his mission companion panic too.

Suddenly, his forearm was being pulled, and James is hoisted up. Elder Davis seemed to be pulling him out of the living room, leaving a very confused Elder Price and a guilty-looking Elder McKinley.

James doesn’t stop crying, though, rubbing his face multiple times with his hand. He was sniffing too, what a shame. Elder Davis brings them in their room, bringing James to sit on his bed.

“Elder Church, breathe.” Elder Davis tells him as he sits next to him, rubbing his back in soothing circles.

He really needed to thank his mission companion later. He was really grateful to have such a kind mission companion who knew how to cope with James’ traumatic past and social anxiety. Heavenly Father bless him.

He was able to regain balanced breathing again as his tears seemed to stop falling quite a bit. Upon noticing that, Elder Davis spoke, “Would you want to explain all of that?”. James puts his hands down on his lap and took a deep breath.

Here goes nothing.

“Elder Poptarts kissed me.” James starts, Elder Davis’ eyebrows raise, “and he stopped talking to me.” James adds, hugging himself tightly.

“What do you think?” Elder Davis softly replies, still rubbing his back.

“What?” James finally looks at him straight.

“What do you think about him?” Strangely, he was calm and composed. James was surprised with such, but they did celebrate when Elder Price and Elder McKinley came out.

“I love him.” He states, and honestly, it was true. He did. And now, he was just admitting the truth to his mission companion. “He makes me smile a lot.” James gives out a small laugh, but it was still mixed with nervousness, “I just like him a lot. And I don’t know what to do.” He grits his teeth to stop it from quivering.

There was a small silence a bit as Elder Davis removes his hands from his back. He expects any disappointment coming from Elder Davis, but when he looks at him, he was smiling softly.

“This was probably the first time I see you come out to say the truth so quickly,” he states, looking rather impressed. James raises his eyebrows in disbelief, “You don’t know how proud I am of you for that. I always saw you enjoy Poptarts’ company a lot anyway.”

“What’re you going to do about it, though? I can’t really give you any advice but talk to him.” Elder Davis tells him, “But I can say he’s a really special guy to you. I’m very proud of your relationship with him. Make sure to fix it; I don’t want to see you moping every day. Don’t lose this.”

James nods. He was really grateful for Elder Davis being his mission companion. He really doesn’t think he can cope with everything he’s been through without him. So, he hugs him tightly, making his companion yelp. “Thank you,” he speaks, and he feels Elder Davis hug him back.

“You’re welcome.”

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The mural is finished. 

James sits by the circular table. Each elder sends their regards, a clap by the back, an initiated handshake, or the lines "I could only draw stick people!" (He thinks that compliment is overused, but he still appreciates them nevertheless.)

This was the payment for his hard work, but he doesn't feel content. This wall gave his gut a feeling of something new that was rather nauseous; it was the feeling of wanting to puke out all of your internal organs. You've finished it, why don't you feel satisfied? This question echoes about in his mind, and he has no answer at all. Actually, for the past few days he hasn't had the question for anything at all. He cannot investigate, his curiosity backfired into something that could fatigue one's mind. It's been about three days, and the phantom outline of his lips is the only thing he can feel when he's alone, or whether he goes to sleep. 

He recalls, his usual calm and effortless strokes of paint were replaced by jittery ones. James can feel his hands over the ones James'. 

This feeling of newness was terrible indeed. 

"Elder," James hears a voice from the left to which he identifies as Davis'. James did not bother to halt his musings, but Davis kicks him by the shin, and James' eyes dart upward to meet the anticipating eyes of his fellow missionaries (with...the exception of...he can't bring himself to address his name.) Immediately, James feels himself shrink against his seat, the gazes were all so intimidating. 

"Well, Elder Church, since you're the 'host'," McKinley gestures quotation marks. "would it be alright for you to lead our prayer?" 

James turns to Davis, it was a gaze of death with a sprinkle of fear. Davis remains aloof, having the nerve to quirk the corner of his mouth up.

"Oh, uh, of—" James averts his gaze to the ceiling abruptly. "Of course!" He swears to kill Davis. .

James starts his prayer with a hesitant "Heavenly Father," and he speaks in what he thinks is loud after a long pause. He prays for the usual: adoration, contrition, blessings, and gratitude. Each of the elders nod in what they think is the most justifiable. However, within the inners of James' mind, he asks for answers in the trial he is currently facing, this...this pleasant but dangerous feeling whenever he closes his eyes at night. In this situation, confused was an understatement. 

Once James ends his prayer with a firm but haste "Amen", the lads follow. Everyone scurries off to get a hold of their silverware. The chatters increase in volume, only two cease to talk. James, and the person to his right, Chris. 

"I made the food." Price says nonchalantly. His voice betrayed his aura, however. "Midala taught me this dish: Mugoyo. We only had some sweet potatoes and beans, so...I thought this was the most applicable."

"Took him an hour to get it done." McKinley adds fondly, James cringes despite himself. They sound like those doting couples in T.V.

James scoops a bit of the yellow substance from the bowl it looks quite odd...this Mugoyo, but James isn't complaining better to have food than not. He brings it to his mouth. 

The dish tastes really good, Elder Price did have the right to brag about it after all. It's the closest to real food here in Uganda. For over the past few months, they have been living on noodles, everything manufactured, or if it were to be a real recipe, McKinley would be the bravest to attempt to cook, and it would end up too bland or inedible (of course, they'd have to eat, they are fortunate enough to have food.) 

The other Elders seem to echo this opinion too. Elder Price simply smiles, but there is still pride that swells.

"Elder Thomas," Elder Schrader speaks whilst his mouth is full. "May you please pass the water?" Elder Davis comments a "Don't speak while your mouth is full," in a teasing manner. 

Chris does not reply, but he does the task. He barely looks aware at all, James notices. Chris does not have that charisma that...had James feel things. 

Chris carries the blue pitcher and cradles it on his hands weakly. Chris avoids looking at James as he was passing the pitcher which—

"Heck!" James yelps. The rest of the Elders train their eyes at him. There's something cool on his thighs. He stares down unto his lap to see his slacks in a darker shade, water pooling just between them. 

An unsettling silence fills the room, finally Chris gazes over to James. Chris widens his eyes, revealing the brilliant blue James misses seeing, Chris stares down over to James' lap, and his face turns extremely red. 

Chris scurries towards the cabinets, fetching toilet paper. His hands were fumbling on the single task of ripping a roll, Afterwards, he approaches James' lap, he attempts to dab his lap dry muttering "Sorry" as if he was a broken mixtape. James stops his intentions by gripping his wrist. 

With stableness that surprises James himself, James says: "It's alright, Elder."

Chris opens his mouth to say another word, but James cuts him again. "I'll...I'll just change." 

James rushes to his room, leaving tracks of water which had Neeley growl. Elder Schrader is wide-eyed, and aghast he says: "So much for water..."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

There were no rules to prohibit them to do things, so in the gust of liberation they have decided to use it to their advantage. They've decided to watch something aside from those that are Church-approved to be able to feel normality for once, being unique can be draining as well. 

They're all lucky enough to possess a television set, and a DVD player, James thinks. It wasn't exactly the most up-to-date, and definitely was not the highest quality, but you have to work what you're given. 

The Hunchback of Notre Dame was the film of choice...so far, James realizes that this movie does not stray from the essence of what they used to preach. James has expected something...blood-curling, something of violence, in all honesty. The fresh feeling of rebellion coursing to his veins could've done this to him, but it's alright, he doesn't find the choice bad in anyway...just, unexpected. 

The lights are closed, and each elder crowd around the cheap television they owned, either munching on something, actually watching, talking to their peers...or sleeping, like Elder Michaels (Michaels looked ridiculous, his mouth was wide open, drool slipping down, and his leg positioned in the most awkward of ways.) 

James makes himself comfortable at the settee, cracking his joints in the most satisfying ways. From the ground, Zelder turns to look at James. Zelder retrieves the bowl of fruits beside him and hands it to James. "Yah want, Elder?"

"Uh, nah..." James waves his hand left to right. "T-Thanks for the offer though, Elder!" 

Zelder smiles. "Suit yourself," He devours all of the chopped fruits in the bowl. James quirks up his eyebrows in surprise. Well, that was certainly healthy. 

But he feels a weight on the left side of the coach, indicating someone else was seated down. James turns to his left, and sees Chris. Chris left a large amount of space between him and James, a white blanket was draped around Chris' blond hair, the ends of the blanket were clipped together by Chris' hand. It made him look like the statue of the Virgin Mary in the current scene.

James asks himself, if Chris denied him so much, why bother to sit near—

Oh.

Around four people have decided to retire to sleep on the floor, and there was no longer a vacant spot for him to sit on. The people remaining awake are...Elder McKinley, Elder Schrader and Elder Davis, he and Chris. 

The scene was beautiful, James would have to admit that the Catholics' Cathedrals, Church, whatever—are immensely beautiful. The background was done justice and he adores the stained-glass ever so often as well, the song, as he predicts from the lyrics is "God Help the Outcast". It was a beautiful, calming melody, the woman's voice was wonderful, but certainly the woman wasn't sniffling?

The sniffling was becoming more and more prominent, and it sounded like it was from the left. 

 

James snaps his head towards the direction of the sniffling, and receives an image of Chris, tears clutching his blanket tightly, one tear after another running down his cheeks. Was the scene that moving?

"Uh elder," James tries to call on Chris' attention, but Chris refuses to turn to him. "Elder." He repeats.

"Elder, are you alright?" James says louder, he finds himself scoot closer to that outline of a frail body. 

No response. 

"Chris," James finally says. He had to ignore the flurry of butterflies surging through his stomach all the way to his chest when he says his name. Chris finally turns, looks at him in shock. "Are you alright?" James adds. 

Chris halts his crying for a while, before gaining a coughing fit and spilling myriads of tears. 

Chris was trembling with his cries. James wanted to hug him, to comfort him, he was encompassed with a feeling of whispering sweet nothings to him (which he honestly finds frightening), but James was back to where he was in the very start, he could not initiate much, and would never have the nerve to do anything daring. 

Chris rises up from his seat immediately and runs to his room, James' question still hanging. 

Another static silence.

Someone clears their throat. James turns back to see McKinley quirking an eyebrow, the corner of his lips were pulled downward. Davis wore an anxious expression, Schrader was definitely in confusion. 

"Elder McKinley, is there anything the matter with Elder Church and Thomas?" Schrader inquires. 

"Yes, yes there is," McKinley projects a 'you-know-what-I'm-talking-about' stare to James. "A lot." 

Why is this all so hard?

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

James never liked the idea of hell dreams acting as a punishment for anything. In all honesty, they felt like God was overreacting over small sins everyone does once in a while. And maybe at times, these sins weren't intentional. Maybe you were just a child when you do these mistakes, sometimes your feelings control you like a puppet, or maybe you were forced to do these. But apparently, these are sins nonetheless, equally bad as other sins even if it were stealing a donut to murdering someone. 

James hated hell dreams. He had them since a young age, every time he'd be guilty about anything bad his father did to his mother. It wasn't his fault too! He never hurt his mother in anyway. He was powerless in situations like these. So, hell dreams were more of a punishment for nothing.

At least nowadays he rarely has them, thanks to their excommunication. He was free from the strict rules of Mormonism. He didn't really believe God was a good person, anyway, so the excommunication was a big relief. 

But still, his hell dreams still happen. They're rare but when they happen, it's still as brutal as he remembers. He had one when he fought with Elder Davis once, and he really regrets it. He really hoped no other hell dreams pop up.

But they still do.

In fact, he got one thanks to the most recent happenings. They weren't as bad as those from before, but they were still horrible anyway. When he woke up, what he remembers from the dream was vague, but he remembers he had this dark and rotting feeling deep in his chest. It was mixed with regret, sorrow, anger, and everything.

The usual thing he does after he wakes up is always try calming himself before analyzing the dream. His breathing turns labored, resulting to him remembering some calming down methods his guidance counselor taught him when he was young. And when he feels like he needs to cry, he will. He already knew turning it off was wrong, he doesn't believe in that tactic anymore. So, he'd just cry, trying his best to keep silent. He didn't want to drag Elder Davis to this situation anyway.

But he'd fail anyway, Elder Davis waking up, face filled with heavy worry and concern. He'd not say anything, he'd just sit beside James and rub soothing circles of comfort on his back (also massaging his scalp from here and there). He really needed to give something to present his gratitude and gratefulness towards Elder Davis; he was the greatest friend he had, even better than his family. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" He hears Elder Davis say in a hushed tone, rubbing James' scalp soothingly. 

"Isn't it obvious already?" James replies, the massages calming him down a bit more. He'd stopped crying now.

Then there was silence as Elder Davis shifts his position. He has stopped massaging James. James wipes his cheeks, rubbing his eyes afterwards.

"What do you feel?" Elder Davis asks, his eyes sternly looking at James. James didn't bother looking back, he didn't want to feel guiltier than what he feels right now.

"Lost." He simply replies, hugging his legs closer to him. There was a deep sigh before he buried his face in his legs, "I don't know what to do." He says, voice a bit muffled.

"You haven't talked to him yet." Elder Davis replies back, causing James to look up, "You're gonna go nowhere if you don't overcome your anxiety." He points out, and James nods.

He'd been pushing that priority since he was reminded to talk to him. Anxiety loved to do that to him, control him like a puppet. He just needed that one push of motivation for him to finally do it, his anxiety just pulled him down a lot.

"I know." James replies, "I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about," Elder Davis stands up to walk back to his bed. They were both really tired anyway, "But bud, I'm just saying you can't go anywhere if you avoid him. And I for one do not like seeing the both of you avoid each other like that. Like I said, Elder Thomas is a special person for you. Please try your best to talk to him, mend your relationship, become... official!" He lays back down on his bed, then looks at James one more time.

"Alright, tomorrow, I will." James says confidently but his voice still was shaking. "Thank you, Elder Davis, you're the best brother I ever had."

"You're welcome, bud. Same for you."

And James slept again, scared but prepared for the long day he had tomorrow.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

James clutches the box covered in manila paper tightly with his two hands. 

James had enough courage to ask one of his colleagues (Elder Zelder) on the whereabouts of Elder Poptarts. Zelder replies: "Dude, he's by the kitchen. Ya know him, daily dose of Poptarts." James does not forget his manners, he utters gratitude and rushes to his destination.

This time the roles have changed, James notices. This was how things were the first time he an Chris had their interaction, except it's James now who finds Chris smiling to himself. Through the small bow window filters the weak golden rays of the m sun, landing on Chris' blond hair, and illuminates it. James feels butterflies erupt in his stomach, Chris looked so...ethereal, and peaceful—it does things to him. Things that are meant to be sorted and identified. 

James basks in the silence and beauty of it all for a while, before coming back to senses. He's decided to knock on the wall, to politely excuse Chris from whatever reverie he had. It works effectively, James would find it rather endearing how Chris would be caught in surprise, and James would be able to get a better view on the sky blue eyes ones Chris possessed. 

Chris straightens the creases on his shirt in haste, and stands up-right. 

James cautiously nears Chris, and with shaking palms James hands the box. Chris simply stares down at it.

"Open it," James says, he doesn't expect Chris to speak up. "I'm sorry if it's—it looks sloppy, I couldn't find wrapping paper, and we only have those from the supplies the Church gave us."

Chris tears the wrapper, and it revealed an all-too familiar blue box. Chris gazes questionably at James. "Poptarts." Chris finally speaks. James flinches upon hearing the high, soft-spoken voice that was absent for too many days. James does not hope for the best, however. James is ever so sure that Chris would answer in such an aloof way that would always sting him. 

"Why poptarts, Elder?" Chris asks. "I have dozens." The title sets an atmosphere of heavy formality that James loathed so much. 

"We-ell," James begins. "I figured you didn't have the flavor of cherry poptarts–It's more of a sorry gift, I had Davis buy it when he was assigned to go to town to buy...from the market at the morning. D-don't worry, it's my money. Not the district's, I thought that if I give you a little something, would be an atonement for all the things I've done. I—I" Breathe, James tells himself, You can do this. 

"This—this might be our last interaction. I—I don't know, beginning that day...you—kissed me, I was...confused. I felt things afterwards...but maybe that was just in the wind of events, that maybe you didn't— I don't know what this—"

James feels a choking grip around his neck as his tie was pulled firmly, a thud resounded through the room. James' lips were pillowed upon Chris' softer ones. James knows this sudden impulsiveness that Chris exhibited would sooner or later relapse. James makes sure to release every bit of emotion he had for the boy kissing him. James' hands land over the top of Chris' smaller ones. 

Light-headed, a word to describe how James felt as of the moment, the unique warmth that Chris possessed—the warmth that James has been unknowingly craved for, how Chris tasted like strawberry poptarts. He drinks in the addictive liquor. 

Chris pulls away, his lips parted ever so slightly, his eyes were hooded as they gaze towards an object James' can't identify, he looked beautiful, a piece of art that was breathed with life. When James said addictive, it was the destructive kind of addictive. If you weren't to intake it, it would feel as if you would never be able to live afterwards, you become dependent on that thing. 

Dependent. James never ever knew that he was actually a dependent person. He'd thought he'd be able to sustain for himself alone—it was bad to assume signs from Above, but maybe it is. James finds himself to believe. 

James retracts his hands from Chris', and wraps his arms around Chris' waist, pulling Chris in such a close proximity, James can feel the hitches of Chris' breath. James closes the space between the two of them immediately, Chris lets out a soft sound and his non-broken hand winds up on James' raven hair. Everything here felt right, and it was just two of them, only the two of them. 

They pull apart tenderly, nervous smiles stretching across their face. James huffs a small laugh, and Chris smiles, he smiles. James does not know why, but his vision turned into the most vibrant he'd ever seen. Both of them laugh softly, enraptured by this feeling of—

"This other boy, the one you talked to in that celebration months ago, the one of the only two who was sober," Chris starts, "He...thinks he...loves you." he buries his head under James chin, clutching on the fabric of James' clothes tightly. "He thinks that he always...that he always has." 

"You know I think I do too, " James whispers. "That I love you," that must be the cheesiest thing that came out from James' mouth, but he believes in those three words:—

A steady and slow clap reverberates throughout the whole room, the two boys turn to look to the source of the sound, and likewise dramatically, a figure appears—which they both soon identified as 

"Elder McKinley!" Chris pulls away from James, red-faced. "Sor—" Chris halts as McKinley raises his hand in a gesture of silence.

"It's alright, it's alright." McKinley reassures, "I thought all of this stalling would happen forever!" he adds.  
James and Chris exchange a look of shyness with one another, "I'm not going to disturb you any longer, but please—no making-out on the kitchen—"

"T-that wasn't making out!" Chris refutes, cutting McKinley's advice "we were...we were just—"

"Fine, fine, you weren't!" A smirk arises from McKinley, "Elder Church, take care of my companion, or else—" he warns. McKinley bids farewell once more, before a humongous squeal echoed through the walls. 

James hears Chris' feeble but sincere laugh, and this...this just...gave him an encompassed feeling of protectiveness, fidelity, happiness, and a wider palette of color to choose from, making him believe in these simple yet powerful words:

I love you.  
   
0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

It was 6 o'clock in the morning, and the District 9 Elders, with an addition of Nabulungi are having a picnic by the lakeshore (as per Cunningham's suggestion), where missionaries commenced their baptisms. Elder Neeley insisted to have it this early, stating that the sun later on would be deadly. Elder McKinley and the rest of the boys agree. 

So here they are, a decent cloth beneath them, food placed inside woven baskets (which they are yet to discover), and at least five pitchers of water.

"Elder Neeley, you're reading your book upside down." Says Elder Zelder. 

"Really?" Neeley replies nonchalantly. He averts his gaze over to the book titled "The War of Worlds" that he cradled with his right hand. He switches it to a position that could be duly read, "Thank you." 

James sits just beside Neeley, hearing his occasional mutters of: "This is not how it works at home." and "The Mari don't act/look/sound like that, my citizens told me." huh, odd—he didn't know Neeley was incredibly imaginative—James figures.

He does not have anyone to talk to, Davis has abandoned him over for a set of lemurs, chimpanzees...whatever it was. It was rather awkward to just sit there without talking, just...staring. 

Chris—he seemed occupied, and James still could not believe what happened yesterday, that Chris has allowed him to be kissed, to hold his frail body close, and say sweet nothings to him, it—it was way too surreal. It has to be too good to be true. 

James takes a breather, excuses himself. He walks over to a huge tree, and leans on it. He inhales the air that briefly smelled like honeydew, moss, and the soil. He looks up towards the sky that was brightening by each minute, afterwards closing his eyes as the wind washes over him.

By the distance, footsteps against grass can be heard, increasing in tempo and volume. The sound halts, silence fills the air. 

 

"Hello," it whispers. James opens his eyes to see blue eyes, golden spools of hair, and a sweet smile. "Good morning." 

"Hi Chri—" James' greeting was cut off by Chris' warm embrace. Chris goes on his tip-toes to press a shy kiss on James cheek, which left James flustered.

"Is there anything wrong?" Chris asks with a timid tone. "I saw you left...you kind of...looked worried. I-if—can I ask why?" 

"Nothing...it's nothing," James replies. Chris doesn't look convinced. 

"I—I...fine, I—do you really...like-like—love me?" James manages to stutter out. Chris blushes in turn. 

"I...I do...I think I do," Chris pauses. "When I see you, my pulse goes nuts, here:" Chris takes James hand and places it on his chest. It does, it beats really fast. James was captivated by the aura of innocence Chris had. It was...it was really cute. "Wait, no." Chris pursed his lips and his eyes furrowed. 

 

"I don't think I love you," Chris says sternly. James widens his eyes. He knew it— "I love you, I know that I love you." Chris reiterates. "Do you want me to prove you?" 

Chris uses his functioning arm to pull James down into a kiss. It was the same clumsy kiss they shared two days ago, it made both of the boys feel somersaults in their stomachs (it was the good kind).

They part, they press their foreheads together. James resists the urge to kiss the tip of Chris' nose, in which he fails. This results to a hearty giggle from Chris. 

"It's proven." James smiles. "Say, do you think...do you think you have a poptart that represents my love for you?” James asks, pulling away from their previous position. His hand transfers unto Chris' neck, rubbing small circles using his thumb. Chris seems to melt into the touch. 

"The poptarts you gave me the first time..." Chris smiles brighter, if that was possible. "The first time we kissed."

"It's what I placed in the baske—" Chris says, smirking to himself

"HEY, I REMEMBER PLACING SANDWICHES HERE," Michaels' shout cuts of Chris' statement. Chris attempts to stifle his laughter but loses it to the end. 

"You're getting a bit rebellious, Chris." James says in disbelief, then poking Chris' side. James viewed Chris to be a goody-two shoes kind of person...he might be, but this event proves that he isn't entirely. "That's new." 

"Well, I'm going to be a new person." Chris retorts. "Going back to the topic, even though I have a poptart representing my love for you, I don't think I would be needing to eat my feelings—literally." 

Chris winds his right hand up to James' hair. "My love for you would be something too great to turn off."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAY, YOU'VE REACHED THIS FAR. I hope you enjoyed all of this! Thanks for reading!
> 
> We plan doing some more ChurchTarts, a pre-canon angst fic, but it may take sometime to make. For now, just spread the good word of ChurchTarts.
> 
> Follow us on Tumblr! :  
> @appleflavoredkitkats and @littledaisyfloret


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